


the way this river runs

by soldouthaz



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Amnesia, Angst, Bottom Louis, Exes to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Roommates, Top Harry, minor medical inaccuracies, please see notes for disclaimer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26419627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream I’m sorry until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him.But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did.--Louis is provided a chance to start over. He takes it.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 57
Kudos: 253





	the way this river runs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bruisedhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedhoney/gifts), [hazelslwt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelslwt/gifts).



> hello! quick disclaimer: this story does touch on some minor real events, but it is NOT MEANT TO BE CANON! i do not claim to be making or describing actual scenarios, feelings, or situations and all of my characters, though real people, are explicitly fictional in regards to their personal motives, traits, and characteristics. this is a work of fiction meant to be enjoyed and not taken seriously as my own views/opinions. 
> 
> also, this story includes references to a car accident but it is never discussed in detail. while we're listing warnings, Louis' character deals with symptoms of depression throughout the fic that are minor but may be triggering for some people (ex. some negative personal thoughts, lethargy, memory loss, anxiety, etc.) but again there is NOTHING graphic included anywhere in the story and they are only allusions. please, if you have any questions before reading don't hesitate to reach out to me and I will help however I can! 
> 
> now that all of that is out of the way, I want to say a big massive thank you to several different people. first to ris (falsegoodnight), as always, for beta-ing for me, especially on such short notice and while she's working on other projects. and then for Hayley and Nessa -- you guys have been nothing short of amazing to me since the moment I met both of you and everyday I'm so grateful to have you guys in my life. you're some of my most cherished cheer leaders and I hope I can return the favor somehow for you guys as well. I've never been the best at articulating this kind of thing but just know that I appreciate you both so so so much and I hope you guys enjoy this fic ;) happy birthday(s)!

The first time Louis wakes up after the accident, he doesn’t make a sound. 

His eyes don’t even open until minutes later, the  soft thrum of all of the machines in the room keeping him lethargic. He registers the IV in his hand and the blood pressure cuffs tight around his calves, but he doesn’t even feel particularly  _ bad _ . The room smells of clinical supplies and aerosol and Louis’ first instinct is to get out. 

He forces himself to stay still. There’s no gasp, no twitch, and his eyes don’t peel open wide. When he wakes up, he feels just as numb as he had the days during the month before. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the button for the nurse. He doesn’t press it. Unsure of how long he lays there, now conscious, he blinks at the sound of voices outside of his door. 

_ ‘Concussion’ _ can be heard through the thin walls, followed by several other mumbled sentences that run together in his brain. Louis wonders if they’ll let him go home today or if they’ll keep him longer. 

With how dry his mouth is and how stiff his arms appear to be, he guesses he’s been here for a while. Regardless, he’s alone. No one’s in the chairs in the corner of his room, no flowers or cards on the cabinet. Louis wishes he could say he was surprised. 

A sharp knock on his door is all the warning he gets before a nurse is pushing her way inside, nearly dropping her chart when she’s met with Louis’ blank open stare. 

“Mr. Tomlinson,” she breathes, “you’re awake! How are you feeling?” 

The nurse scrambles over to the phone before coming over to check his vitals. Without moving too far, he shrugs. 

“Any pain, nausea, discomfort?” 

“No,” he rasps, clearing his throat. 

She writes down his temperature and crosses the room again to fill a paper cup with some water. This time he takes it from her gratefully, taking slow, methodical sips until his throat feels smoother. 

“I’m going to let the doctor know you’re up,” she tells him, heading back for the door. “Press the button if you need anything else for now, alright?” 

Louis nods. “How long have I been out?” he asks before she leaves him alone again. 

“About six days now,” she winces gently. 

He nods again and pretends the wetness in his eyes is from an injury and not from the fact that he’s still alone. He hadn’t done this on purpose, not even close. But, laying there in the wreckage after the other person sped away, still heavily intoxicated, he remembers thinking  _ maybe now someone will care _ . 

It’s for the better, he supposes. He’s got to learn how to be alone at some point now. 

The small window in his room has gone dark by the time the nurse returns. The doctor can’t see him today, she says. Louis nods again. If she seems concerned at his lack of response, she doesn’t mention it. 

He spends the remainder of the night staring up at the ceiling tiles. There’s an ache that’s popped up in his hip, another near his shoulder, but he still doesn’t press the button. Louis dreams about a different hospital room buzzing with people that care about him. He used to be able to pick out who everyone was, but now all he sees when he closes his eyes is a sea of vacant, faceless people staring back at him.

His eyes shoot back open. He watches the ceiling tiles until it's too dark to figure out if he’s asleep or awake anymore. 

+

The following morning doesn’t go much better. His doctor’s been scheduled for an emergency surgery so he probably won’t be able to see him today either. The nurse tells him to let her know of any new symptoms. Louis just wants to go home. 

At some point he gets to take the blood pressure cuffs off to go to the restroom, but it only opens an entirely new set of issues. Upon standing, Louis goes unsteady on his feet, grasping for the side of the bed just before he falls completely. He doesn’t try to get up again until someone comes to walk him across the room. 

Bruises litter his skin when he passes the mirror they have  hung over the sink. His reflection should probably terrify him, dark bags underneath his eyes and sunken, pale skin, but Louis just blinks at the stranger and finishes washing his hands. 

As if sensing his sour mood, even the nurse stops coming by eventually. She says she’ll be back when the doctor comes. Louis nods. 

He drinks his paper cups of water since they’d moved the carton next to his bed, crossing and recrossing his ankles when one side of his body falls asleep. Part of him wishes he had his phone so he could check to see if the news got out yet but he’s glad he doesn’t have it. That’d gotten crushed in the wreck as well. 

Even if he could call someone he doesn’t know who it would be. Or, he  _ does _ , but he can’t call them anyway. They probably wouldn’t want to hear from him. 

There’s a fan that was placed in his room this morning on his right side and Louis lays with his back turned to it. If he lies perfectly still, it kind of feels like careful breath there, on the side of his neck, like someone’s still there, laying next to him. 

He pretends there is and tries to fall asleep again faster than he had the night before. Even when his arm falls asleep under his side, he doesn’t move. 

+

On Thursday he gets to walk around. Just up and down the hallway and with a walker to guide him, but it's something. Some of the feeling returns to his legs and he doesn’t feel as woozy when he stands on his own. He lets himself be fooled into thinking it’s some kind of serious progress and accepts the stale cookie they offer him in celebration. 

They’d had him on a liquid diet over the past few days, but today he’d gotten to eat a bread roll and some chicken from the cafeteria. Smelling it coming through the door had his mouth watering, but he hadn’t been able to keep any of it down. 

For the third day in a row the doctor has been called to something apparently more important. His nurse has told him she can’t say anything about his condition without him present. Louis goes another day without knowing when he’ll get to go back home. 

He finds the remote to the small television in one of the drawers next to his bed and watches old cartoons until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. 

+

Louis wakes up to voices on Friday. Loud, familiar voices that send his brain into overdrive in his sleepy haze. He’s got a headache already that he isn’t sure if he had when he fell asleep the night before, dull and throbbing in his temple. 

For some reason his eyes feel heavier today than they have any of the days he’s been here. It takes all of his strength to blink them wide to see what’s happening. Head shifting to the side, he can see two people in the chairs next to his bed. 

“Lou,” Niall rushes, standing to wrap him in a tight hug. 

“Careful, Niall,” Liam adds. He steps around to the other side and puts an arm on Louis’ shoulder, squeezing just barely. “We’re so happy you’re okay, Lou.” 

Wincing, Louis tries to manage a smile at them. Liam’s eyes are red and Niall won’t let go of him yet, mumbling to himself about not letting Louis out of their sight.  _ This is nice, _ Louis thinks, but none of this would’ve happened had they not decided to all go their separate ways. He tries not to let his bitterness taint the high emotion in the room. 

“Hi,” he says shakily. 

“Your nurse said you were already doing better,” Niall sniffs, “That’s awesome, Louis.” 

“It’s - yeah. S’awesome,” he nods. 

There’s a thick silence where Liam glances between them, his mouth halfway open. Louis wonders what he’s going to say, if he’s going to make some excuse for why the one person he’d wanted to see isn’t here. 

“We - we’ve called Harry,” Liam starts. 

_ There it is. _

“He didn’t answer,” Niall says, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes. 

Yeah, Louis hadn’t thought he would. If he’s honest, he wishes they hadn’t called him in the first place. But that’s what they always do, what everyone always does. Every time Louis messes up someone’s got to let Harry know. Someone’s got to give him a reason to be happy he left Louis behind. 

“That’s fine. You guys are more than enough company, yeah?” He tries to smile again, cheeks hurting from the effort it takes. 

“We’re really sorry, Louis,” Liam says, eyes guilty. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a hand as high as he can reach it. “Catch me up on everything I’ve missed, yeah?” 

They launch into all of it but Louis can’t even pretend to be listening. He thinks they know it too, but they don’t say anything when his eyes glaze over, staring at the wall. He hadn’t expected Harry to show up, but,  _ fuck _ . 

He really wishes he had. 

+

Liam and Niall stick around for the day before they head back to their own obligations. It does end up being kind of nice to talk to them and sometimes he’s able to get out of his own head, but mostly he just sits and nods and acts like he’s paying attention while he replays how he’d gotten here in his head. 

At some point before lunch they bring him a new phone to activate but Louis sticks it in his hospital bag for another time. He doesn’t want to get on it right now because he knows he won’t be able to help himself from checking the socials which only ever leads him in a downward spiral. His bruises are still fresh, he figures. The rest of the world can wait for him to recover before they do what they do best. 

He’s just stepped over to use the restroom when he hears the doctor re-enter his room, greeting Niall and Liam formally. Louis shuts off the sink after he’s finished, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. There’s a few beats of silence and then some small talk between the three of them before Louis hears his own name. He holds his breath and waits to hear what they say. 

“Is he - I mean, will he have any long-term health issues, do you think?” Liam asks hesitantly. 

“Not that we can tell just yet,” his doctor informs them. “Unfortunately we’re still waiting for the majority of his tests to come back. He did appear to take a pretty hard hit to the head, though, so there’s a good chance of something happening with that.” 

“Something, as in…” Niall prompts. 

“Most likely a concussion. And, depending on how hard he was hit, possibly some low-grade amnesia as well. It’s better not to speculate, though. The tests will tell us for certain.” 

Louis grips the edges of the standalone sink harder as he looks at himself in the mirror. 

_ Amnesia _ . He tosses the word around in his head and then mouths it silently, watching his reflection mirror the movement. It doesn’t even feel like he’s moving. 

He’s seen it in countless movies before and in television shows, heard it in songs and on the radio. He’s heard of people starting fresh, of beginning completely new lives, new relationships, starting over. Being someone else. 

Louis doesn’t have amnesia. Unfortunately he remembers every single detail of the accident, as well as everything that happened before that. Bitter but undeniably clear memories that linger behind his eyelids, taunting him with his own mistakes. 

Wouldn’t it be amazing if they all just -  _ disappeared? _

He hears the doctor leave once again with the promise of coming back by in a bit, leaving his friends alone in the room. Louis takes one step back closer to the door as they begin to whisper. 

“Shit,” Liam chuckles nervously. 

“I know. Tommo?” Niall asks, “With amnesia? Do you really think it’s possible?” 

Liam isn’t visible but Louis can picture his worried shrug. “I mean, you tell me. The entire time we were talking to him yesterday he didn’t say a word to us. It was like he didn’t even know what we were talking about. Maybe he  _ does _ have it.” 

They’re right - Louis hadn’t said a word to them while they caught him up on everything. But that hadn’t been because he hadn’t known what they were talking about, he’d just been tired and overwhelmed and, quite frankly, uninterested in the gossip they’d offered him. His mind had been more focused on Harry, unfortunately, as it usually is when they come to visit. 

Liam and Niall means thinking about the past and thinking about the past means  _ Harry _ . 

“Louis, you alright?” There’s a quick tap on the bathroom door. 

“Yeah,” he answers Niall, quickly drying his hands off on the towel and stepping out. He sniffs and swipes his hair to the side, thinking about how much he needs a cut. 

“Hey, buddy,” Liam smiles softly, head tilted to one side in sympathy. 

“Hey, Li,” he drawls back, lifting himself up onto his heels to get up onto the bed. Niall is at his side in a second, gripping his arm to help him get situated. 

Louis hasn’t spoken to them properly in so long that he doesn’t even really know how to fill the silence anymore. He fusses with the covers until they’re pulled back up to his waist and then takes a long sip of his cup of water to avoid the tense air. 

“So…” Niall hums, eyes dancing awkwardly over the room, “the weather?” 

Liam barks a forced laugh and Louis tries to mirror it but all that comes out is a puff of stale air from his lungs. He settles back into his pillows, too lazy to contribute anything to the clearly lacking conversation. 

When enough time passes the TV flicks on and Liam thumbs through the channels, surfing until he lands on a game that Niall waves excitedly about. They collapse into the chairs next to his bed and he listens to Niall’s cheers and Liam’s quiet comments, reminding him of when they used to do the same thing in random hotel rooms while he and Harry snuck off somewhere for time to themselves. 

Louis shuts his eyes and exhales.  _ This _ he’s good at. 

+

Harry shows up, inevitably. Dressed in sleep clothes and drenched from the rain outside, he rushes through the waiting room and makes such a ruckus that it’s got Louis sitting up in his bed to see what’s happening. 

Liam and Niall left hours ago, staying in a hotel nearby and saying they’d be back tomorrow. As much as he’d been upset, it’d been nice to just listen to someone talk for a bit instead of the noise in his own head and the whirring of the AC going on and off every half hour. 

The light outside of his room flips on and he hears his nurse talking before the door slams open. Louis’d been expecting the doctor, maybe a fan that’d managed to sneak their way in or to get some pictures, so Louis braces himself for the worst. 

In the end, it’s just Harry. He hates that he looks the same as the last time they saw each other, Harry’s face burned in the back of his brain since that day. He probably thinks Louis looks awful, sat up in a hospital bed looking frail and bruised. If he hadn’t broken up with him already, he surely would have now. 

Harry chokes around a mix between a relieved laugh and a cry, dropping his sopping jacket on the ground as soon as he gets in the door. His long legs have him standing next to the bed before Louis can do much of anything, freezing up when Harry’s arms circle around him gently. 

He’s sobbing into Louis’ neck and he doesn’t know  _ why _ , but hearing him cry brings tears to Louis’ eyes as well that he stubbornly tries to keep from slipping out. Even if Harry’s here, he isn’t  _ here _ anymore. He can’t let himself be fooled, not when everything is so uncertain. 

“Lou,” he chokes, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Louis’ head to his chest. 

Louis cries. For the first time since he’s been here he doesn’t try to hold anything back. And he curses himself because, just like always, he’s never been able to hide anything from Harry. It isn’t  _ fair _ . 

He cries until he doesn’t think he can anymore, until Harry’s shushing him and rocking them back and forth. Louis tries to talk, to apologize, but Harry shushes him then too. 

“I would’ve been here so much sooner,” he says, grabbing the sides of Louis’ face, “I had no idea, Louis. I didn’t even hear about it until this morning, I would’ve been here,” his voice cracks. 

Shaking his head, Louis just leans in to  hug him again. He doesn’t want to hear that. He doesn’t need to hear the desperation in his tone, to feel how normal it feels to be in his arms again. It shouldn’t be this easy after getting over him, or  _ trying _ to, was so difficult. 

The nagging thought from earlier returns to his brain. What if they  _ had _ no past? What if it could all be erased in the span of a few seconds, a new blank slate open and ready for them to start over? 

He misses Harry so much he can feel it in every part of his body, a deep thrumming in his bones that only ceases the longer he breathes in his familiar scent, vanilla and tobacco cologne. The last thing he wants is for Harry to be here for a few days, make sure he’s alright, and then leave all over again. Even now Louis isn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. 

Fisting his hands in Harry’s wet sweater, Louis squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stabilize his breathing. He wants so  _ much _ . He misses the days when they were so close, when they’d been attached at the hip. And it’s his own fault he supposes that they’d drifted apart but he’s selfish and right now he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to let go of him. 

Harry seems just as desperate but he knows better than to get his hopes up. Harry is a good person. He cares too much and loves too deeply and jumps in headfirst into everything he does and Louis admires that nearly as much as he loathes it because all it does is get both of them  _ hurt _ . Louis’ tired of being hurt. He wishes they could just start over. 

His heartbeat stutters in his chest, eyes popping open to stare up at the ceiling over Harry’s shoulder.  _ Start over _ . 

The past year has been awful. Since the hiatus and unofficial band breakup, not to mention he and Harry’s falling out, Louis’ been lost. He stumbles around and does the things he thinks he’s supposed to without giving it much thought. He isn’t excited about anything anymore. He doesn’t have anything to look forward to, anyone to share his interests with. 

The only thing he’s good for anymore is sitting and wallowing in his own regrets, meditating on his mistakes instead of doing anything to rectify them. Never in his life has Louis been good at apologizing or owning up to his wrongdoings, and he can’t picture himself starting now either. 

It’d be so easy to just open his mouth and plead with Harry, to scream  _ I’m sorry _ until his voice disappears, but he can’t. Be it his pride or his ego or his insecurities, he just can’t do it. The worst part is that he knows Harry would probably forgive him. 

But Louis doesn’t want phony forgiveness. He doesn’t want Harry’s soothing words and pity embrace, thinks he might just break altogether if he was offered them. He feels like he’s made of glass recently and it’s to the point where he kind of wants to tip over the edge, just to see if he’d shatter. Just to see who’d be there to pick up the pieces if he did. 

Maybe shattering isn’t negative, he muses. Maybe it’s a new beginning instead of the heavy weight of mourning. Maybe it’s something that needs to happen before he can move on. 

He hugs Harry tighter but keeps his eyes wide open. Maybe, if Louis plays his cards right, he can pull this off. 

+

By the following Saturday, he’s finally able to go back to his apartment. 

Despite it holding some not-so-good memories, he’s more than ready to get back to it. Over the past year Louis’ become accustomed to being alone. He’s grown familiar with the quiet, with the mundane and the routine. Which isn’t to say that he likes it, but something familiar feels necessary right now in the midst of everything else. 

After some paperwork and several more questions about how he’s feeling, he’s discharged for real, and Liam and Niall set about gathering his things for him as they head down to the lobby of the hospital. 

“You need help getting home, Lou?” Liam asks, Louis’ bag hanging off of his shoulder as he presses the button for the lift. 

“Yeah, we can give you a ride,” Niall says. 

“I think I’m okay,” Louis shakes his head. “I can just take a cab.” The two of them share a look, brows furrowed and mouths opening, and Louis tilts his head at them. “What?” 

“Well,” Liam starts gently, “do you… remember where your flat is?” 

_ Oh _ . That’s Louis’ cue. He’s got to start being more careful now. 

“Oh, I - uhm, I suppose I don’t, no.” He turns his head to the side and blinks several times like he’s trying to remember, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. 

“C’mon, Tommo, we’ll take you,” Niall elbows him softly and grins, a twinge of sympathy in his eyes. Louis feels like he might be sick. 

He follows them out to the car nonetheless and buckles himself in, glancing out the window at all of the familiar roads that seem completely different in the daylight. Louis can’t remember the last time he was out this early in the day, when he wasn’t still passed out in his bed trying to sleep his troubles and hangover away. 

It’s a good hour before they reach the block of flats where he lives on the nicer side of the city, and Louis pretends he doesn’t recognize anything even though his leg bounces excitedly at the thought of being back at home. 

“We’re here, buddy,” Liam says, hopping out of the front seat and grabbing his hospital bag out of the back. “I think maybe you’ll feel better once you're inside. Maybe something will spark your memory.” 

“Li,” Niall hisses, shaking his head. 

Liam pauses guiltily, “What?” 

“Guys, I’m fine. Let’s just go inside, yeah?” 

During the trek upstairs Louis stays behind them as if he doesn’t know where he’s going, begrudgingly accepting the sympathetic looks thrown his way in predictable intervals. They search for the key, dropping a good amount of Louis’ things on the hallway floor in the process, before they finally manage to get his flat unlocked. 

“H said he’d come by later to see if you needed anything,” Liam tells him, setting down his bag in the entryway. “So we’ll let you get comfortable and you can tell him if you’re missing anything. Sound okay?” 

“Mhm,” Louis nods. 

“Oh, and they gave us a bunch of papers to give you when I went down to the front desk,” Niall points to where Liam’s just put it. “They’re all in that bag.” 

Louis’ eyes stray to it and his brows furrow slightly, wondering what paperwork he could have missed that they hadn’t already gone over. He shakes his head and faces them again. 

“Alright, thanks guys,” Louis nods and smiles as best he can at them, trying to get them to leave already without just pushing them out the door. 

“You’ll call us, right?” Liam adds, one foot out of the threshold. 

“Yes, I’ll call you.” 

“And me,” Niall adds. 

“And you, Ni.” 

“And you’ll tell Harry if you need anything?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Louis groans. “I promise. I’ll be fine, guys.” 

Finally,  _ finally _ they give him one final wave and turn to leave, their eyes concerned as the lock clicks back into place. Louis sighs and crumbles against the counter, pulling a hand to his temples to massage them. 

Everything is still just slightly  _ off _ . He and Niall talk every few months when he’s in town but it’s never more than a few minutes because he’s usually there for some kind of gig he’s got scheduled already. And then it’s awkward because he knows Louis isn’t doing anything right now, music or otherwise, so he tries to pretend he’s just there to catch up. In reality, it just makes Louis feel worse. 

And Liam - he hasn’t really spoken to Liam since when they all came to his X-Factor performance. Currently his last performance  _ ever _ . Even seeing them then had only really been because of the circumstance. 

Liam’s a good guy, but he and Louis couldn’t stand each other the last few months of the band. Louis was more invested in the music than he’d ever been and Liam was the opposite just like the rest of them, eager to try out being on his own for a bit. He was the only one that ever said it out loud though, and for that Louis hated him for a while. He shouldn’t have but he did and they fought over stupid, simple things and when he showed up after Louis’ performance Louis cried into his shoulder and muttered tearful sorries into his shirt for a good half hour. He’d apologized to all of them, really, but for different reasons. 

Running his hand down his face, Louis breathes in deeply through his nose and exhales through his lips, pushing off of the counter to pick up the papers Niall told him about to see if there’s anything he should be doing. 

It seems a bit redundant because they’d walked him through every meticulous step back at the hospital about what to do and what not to do and when to do all of that, but he figures he’s better safe than sorry. Unzipping the bag, Louis reaches for the packet and pulls it out, sitting against the edge of the sofa to flip through it. 

Most of it seems like things he’s already heard. There’s a section on staying hydrated and keeping his fluids up, another on stabilizing high blood pressure. One of the pages suggests that he cease any alcohol consumption or drug use for fear it could tamper with his memories or trigger some kind of reaction with the pain medication they’d given him. Louis makes a mental note of most of it and flips the packet shut. 

When he does, one last note falls out from between the final pages. It’s a page directly from the doctor’s notes, written in clinical, capital handwriting, and clear as can be. 

_ Based on visual, mental, and verbal testing, the patient does not seem to have any memory loss or damage at the time of check out.  _

Louis’ face pales. This is  _ not _ good. It’ll be fine, so long as he can just get rid of this. If no one sees it he’s got nothing to worry about. He runs the pad of his finger over the words and bites his lip, wondering if he’s gotten himself too deep into something he isn’t really equipped to handle. He could still pretend to get his memories back right now and they probably wouldn’t question him - 

“Hey, Lou,” Niall knocks twice and pushes the door open again, not bothering to check if it’s okay to come back in. 

Head snapping up, Louis fumbles with the paper and sticks it behind one of the books on the shelf next to the couch, leaning up against it and hoping he looks casual enough that Niall won’t ask questions. 

“What’s up, Ni?” He asks, his voice raised several octaves. “Did you forget something?” 

“Uhm, yeah,” he says slowly. “You left your jacket in the car, just thought I’d run it back up to you while we were still here.” He reaches forward until Louis grabs it out of his hands. “Alright?” 

“Yep,” Louis nods. “All good. Just - getting used to everything again I suppose,” he lies. 

The suspicion on Niall’s face fades into sympathy and he tilts his head, nodding. 

“Okay, well you call us if you need anything and remember Harry’s coming by later too.” 

“I will, Ni,” Louis smiles. “Thanks. For everything.” 

This time when the door shuts Louis locks it behind him. He takes a moment to even his breathing and calm his heart from beating so fast, and lays his forehead against the back of the surface. 

And then he turns and promptly slides to the ground, buries his head in his knees, and sobs until it feels like he can’t cry anymore. 

+

The first several days in his apartment go by fairly quickly. Harry had come by the first night to make sure he didn’t need anything, letting Louis know he’d by staying at a nearby hotel for a few days just in case. Louis smiled and nodded until he left, quiet as they put away the few groceries he’d brought with him. 

For the most part he’s just been reacquainting himself with his surroundings, trying to be grateful for what he has - unfortunately, without much success. 

Louis tries not to let himself slip into that mindset because he knows it’s difficult to work his way out from, but times like this he’s torn. Seeing everyone again had been interesting, leaving him in some kind of mental limbo between his past and his present. He hadn’t thought he would see any of them again for a long, long time, and especially not Harry. 

So he mopes around the flat and paces near the front door, anxious and lazy. There’s a constant buzzing in the back of his brain that tells him he should be doing  _ something _ , but he can’t figure out what it is. When he does finally get off of the couch or pause his endless pacing, Louis gets so exhausted that ultimately he just ends up right back where he started. 

Because of the doctor’s notes he can’t have a drink either, which is what he probably would have done in this situation before. If there’s one thing Louis’ good at, it’s forgetting. Even if only for a night. 

Today, his friends have revived the previously dead group chat they used to share, letting Louis know that they’d be bringing over lunch at his place. They never gave him an option to say no. Apparently, they still know him too well. 

Harry arrives first because of course he does, clad in checkered pants and a black shirt Louis would think pretentious on anyone else. He doesn’t have the food but he is holding a potted plant, a hesitant smile on his face. 

“Hi,” he says, frustratingly familiar. “I hope it’s alright that I’ve come early. I brought a plant,” he gestures. 

“Yeah, of course. Come on in,” Louis nods and pulls the door open wider, shaking his head a bit to rid himself of the memory that this used to be normal. Now it feels like he’s letting a stranger into his home. 

As Harry ventures past the foyer and into the dining room, Louis feels his palms begin to sweat. There isn’t any reason to feel self conscious so suddenly, except for the fact that everything looks much different than it had the last time Harry was here. 

And it hadn’t even been intentional. In fact, Louis distinctly remembers trying to desperately cling to every piece of Harry here that he could. Instead he’d let everything get cluttered, worn down and old because he refused to move their things or buy new furniture. Every corner of the penthouse is stock full of memories, and Louis plans to ignore each and every one of them. 

Harry offers no consolation. No ‘ _ Like what you’ve done with the place _ ’. Nothing that would suggest he’d even set foot in here before. Instead he sets down the plants on the dining room table and turns to the face Louis behind him, moving some of his hair off of his forehead while Louis traces the movement with his eyes. 

“I’ve brought a plant,” he repeats himself, “I thought it might help - uhm, liven up the place.” 

Louis blinks twice and then nods. “Thanks. I’ll set it up by the window,” he says, sidestepping Harry to take them to the window sill so they’ll have sunlight. There’s never been a time Louis  _ hasn’t _ killed a plant, but he appreciates Harry’s optimism. 

“So, you’re still healing okay?” Harry calls behind him, the noise of his feet shifting on the wood echoing in the dining room. 

“Right on track,” Louis quips. 

There’s a heavy sigh when he turns around and then they’re facing each other, Harry on one side and Louis on the other, like some sort of visual symbolism of how divided they are now. Louis fights his bitter smirk and grips the table with his hands instead, feeling the wood dig into his palms. 

“Louis, I-” Harry starts. His face seems pained, brows pinched together and his jaw clenched, and Louis panics. 

Luckily the door opens again then and Niall’s head pokes around the corner, checking if it’s alright to come in. 

“Hey, guys,” Louis rushes with faux enthusiasm. “We were just setting the table.” 

Spinning, Louis grabs four plates and some napkins and silverware from the display case behind him, made especially for large parties and guests. He hopes it isn’t obvious he’s never used it before. 

Handing some to Harry, they set them all out at each of the chairs while the other two bring over the food and begin to unload it in the middle for everyone to help themselves. Liam greets Harry and uncaps the lids while Niall pours their drinks, and then he rounds the table to get to Louis, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. 

“How’re you doing, Lou,” Liam asks, tilting his head sympathetically. Louis’ really growing to resent that look. 

“I’m fine,” he answers. 

“Did you,” Niall clears his throat, “y’know, remember anything else?” 

Pausing where he’d been about to set another plate down onto the table, Harry glances up and between them. “Remember?” He asks, “What are you talking about?” 

Making a show of leaning in close enough that he can whisper to him (even though Louis is very much still in earshot), Liam explains. 

“He’s got amnesia.” 

“What?” Harry repeats, eyes wide. “How?” 

Gulping, Louis opens his mouth to answer but Niall speaks over him again. “He hit his head pretty hard apparently. But they said there’s a good chance things will start to come back. Right, Lou?” 

He leans into the awkward embrace Niall supplies and looks down to avoid having to answer. Bringing out the last of the food, Liam rubs his back again. 

“And even if they don’t, that’s fine too,” he smiles. “We’re just glad you’re here.” 

“Yeah,” Niall echoes, moving to sit down. 

Harry stays silent. 

Louis can’t even bring himself to meet his eye as he rounds the table and sits down across from him, filling his plate up with the food they’d brought. He thinks he’s going to get lucky with that too when Liam and Niall start up a separate conversation and Louis gets lost in his own head, but it isn’t long before Harry speaks up again. 

“How much did you lose?” He asks. 

“He remembers a couple years into the band and that’s it,” Niall says, his own conversation forgotten. 

“Just before tour started,” Louis mutters, keeping his face down and eyes away from Harry while he says it. He’s such a  _ coward _ . 

He figures that should be a good enough timeline. Tour is when he and Harry finally got together officially. They’d still been in that phase where there was definitely something there but they hadn’t kissed, hadn’t fallen down the rabbit hole just yet. It’s enough that maybe he won’t have to answer any questions about things he doesn’t ever want to talk about again. 

“So no hiatus?” Harry checks, eyes only on Louis. 

Niall shakes his head. “Nope.” 

Harry nods very slowly, like he’s thinking about something. His eyes narrow for a second before he clears his throat and turns back to Niall. When Louis sneaks a glance up he fools himself into thinking there’s the slightest bit of relief in them as well. 

Lunch continues and Louis shoves forkfuls of salad into his mouth without chewing much of it, nearly choking several times in his attempt to not be available for any more conversation. He’s ashamed to say he’s the first to leave the table too, picking up his plate and offering to get anyone seconds. 

When he gets to the kitchen he sags against the counter, sighing at the persistent ache in his temples. Head snapping upward, he rifles through the top cabinet until he finds the pain medicine from the doctor, filling up a glass of water to take it with. He’s just gotten it down and started washing his plate off in the sink when Harry comes to wash his as well. Louis fights the scoff on the tip of his tongue and focuses on getting the salad dressing off of the china. 

“So how did you find out about the hiatus? Did you still think we were in the band when you woke up?” Harry keeps his voice low, moving to stand next to him and run his silverware underneath the stream when Louis isn’t using it. 

“Yeah, uh, the doctors and Liam and Ni caught me up to speed on everything pretty quickly.” 

“That must’ve been difficult for you to take in,” Harry nods. 

Something dark settles in Louis’ tummy and he gulps. He can’t put his finger on it but there’s something in Harry’s tone that doesn’t sit right with him. Once again he fights the urge to spill everything and break down in Harry’s arms, something he’s done far too much in the past. He doesn’t have that privilege anymore and, to be honest, they’re probably both better off that way. 

“Yep,” Louis offers, his own voice sounding far away and separate from him. 

Lying to the world isn’t difficult. Lying to Liam and Niall is significantly harder, but Louis thinks he can do it. Lying to Harry, though - he shakes his head to rid himself of the bad taste in the back of his throat, his chest burning. Louis’ never been good at lying to him. 

Harry finishes washing his plate and steps around him again to dry his hands on a washcloth, his body heat much too close and all too familiar. Louis hisses under his breath and moves away. 

“Thanks for lunch,” Harry tells Liam and Niall as he heads back into the dining room, his voice fading out the further he gets away from him. 

Leaning to the side, Louis shuts off the sink and peeks around the corner to where they’re sitting. Everyone’s there just like they used to be, gathered around Louis’ table with drinks in their hands and small smiles on their faces. Louis’ chair remains empty the longer he waits to return. 

His breathing falters slightly and then picks up, his heartbeat rabbiting in his chest. Even when he swallows he can’t seem to get a hold of himself, his eyes beginning to tear up as his chest rises and falls frantically. He grips the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white. 

Maybe he should just tell them. Just get it out there in the open before it festers too much and he loses his chance. Only when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a strained gasp. Coughing lightly, his dry throat stifles the half-sob that threatens to escape, and he slaps a hand against his mouth to make sure it won’t be heard. 

Dizzy with it, Louis’ elbows land hard on the granite countertop and he lays his face in his hands, blinking harshly until the tears cease and he feels a bit more stable. 

Then he slowly straightens until he’s standing at full height again, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply, exhaling through his nose. He shakes his head and plants a passive look on his face, drying his hands one last time on the rag. 

His footsteps are hollow as he walks back out to the dining room and takes his seat next to the rest of them. 

“Lou, you okay?” Liam asks, gentle eyes under a concerned brow. 

Louis blinks. Harry’s eyes flick to him and then away again. 

“Yeah, fine,” he answers. 

+

He’s just beginning to get completely resettled in his flat when it feels like the floor is ripped out from under him, his carefully crafted walls crumbling down all over again. 

The phone vibrates on the coffee table as he’s in the middle of cleaning up old trash and food he’d had out before the accident, one bin already full and another up halfway to the brim. Louis’ got an ache at the bottom of his spine and another in his temples, a tiredness that he can’t seem to shake even though all he’s done since he arrived home was rest. 

Leaning over to grab the cellphone, Louis sets the bin down and slumps onto the sofa behind him, brows furrowing when he sees who’s calling. 

It’s not that he doesn’t  _ care _ for his family. It’s just that they only seem to care for him when they need something. Louis can’t remember the last time they talked. Pleasantly surprised, thinking maybe they’d heard about the accident and are concerned, he gives a thoughtful frown and picks up. 

“Hello?” 

“Louis,” Lottie starts, her voice nothing like he remembers it. “Hey, we’re all here and you’re on speaker.” 

“Hey guys,” he smiles, bringing his legs up onto the couch. “What’s up? How’ve you all been? Sorry I haven’t called in a bit-” 

“We heard about the accident,” Lottie cuts him off. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh, yeah - yeah, I’m okay. Just a few bruises, really. Just resting and taking a break for now at home,” he tells her. 

“That’s good.” 

There’s a pause and some shuffling like they’re touching the mic on the other end of the call, then hushed whispering between them. Louis grows tense again, suspicious of their purpose for the call. He opens his mouth again to change the subject and ask about home, but Lottie’s talking again before he can. 

“You know, Lou, you really need to stop doing that kind of thing,” she says. 

“We just want you to be safe,” one of his other sisters cuts in. 

Louis pauses, glancing off toward the ground. “What - what are you guys talking about?” 

“You know - the drinking,” Lottie says quietly. “We just think that it’s gotten a bit out of hand lately and-” 

“You think the accident was my fault?” 

The breath feels pushed out of his lungs between one moment and the next, his heart dropping to his stomach. Do they  _ really _ think that lowly of him? Some of the minor details might be lost on him but Louis remembers most of the accident very clearly. He’d been much too strikingly sober to ever forget the fear he felt, the way his life flashed before his eyes. 

“Well - yeah,” someone says, but Louis’ already numb. His smile fades and his happiness goes along with it, his grip loosening on the phone until he nearly drops it. 

“We just want you to be safe,” Lottie repeats, like it makes anything better. 

“Got it,” Louis chokes out. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you guys later.” 

He doesn’t give them the chance to say anything else. He ends the call without moving his eyes from the ground, slouching even further into the sofa. 

He’s sure the media’s said awful things about him recently but, as per usual, he refrains from reading any of them for his own good. But - does this mean that other people think the same thing? That  _ Former One Direction Band Member Louis Tomlinson Caused Drunken Accident _ ? Whoever was in the other car had definitely been intoxicated, but Louis hadn’t. He doubts anyone will care to hear that now. 

He can’t even say he’s surprised anymore. The thing about pretending to forget is that he doesn’t  _ actually _ forget. Everything is still right there at the front of his brain, stinging like a fresh wound. 

Louis does what he does best now to combat it - falls backward into the sofa and pretends that he can’t feel anything at all. He’d say he’s pretty damn close to that anyway. 

+

When Harry comes over to bring some more groceries despite Louis’ protest, Louis gets up off the couch for the first time since he’d ended the call with his family. Time has passed, he isn’t sure exactly how much, but he’s fairly certain it’s an entirely different day judging by the light coming in from outside. 

He wipes the sleep from his eyes and winces as his muscles pop when he sits up, sighing lightly. The knocking persists and he stands to let him in, frowning at his pajamas but too lazy to change before Harry sees him. 

“Good morning,” he says brightly, shouldering around Louis to get to the kitchen. 

It’s morning, then, apparently. Louis shrugs and throws the door shut again, sliding his socked feet along the ground to help him unload. 

“I got a bit of everything,” Harry calls over his shoulder, rifling through one of the bags. “Some fruit, vegetables, cereal, sweets, tea,” he lists. 

“Sounds good,” Louis nods. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to.” 

“I know,” Harry pauses to give him a smile before he picks up several of the cereals to put in his pantry. 

Louis’ always been grateful for the fact that Harry doesn’t ever try to fill the silence just for the sake of it. If there’s something that needs to be said he says it, but he also understands that not every moment needs that sort of thing. 

Besides, even talking feels like it takes too much of his energy at this point. Louis’ glad he at least doesn’t have to pretend when he’s around. Not in this regard, anyway. Nausea swirls in his stomach again as he surveys all of the groceries. 

Louis reaches over and grabs the carton of eggs from the bag and carries them over to the fridge to put them away. He bites his lip for a moment, then clears his throat. 

“You don’t - you don’t think that I caused the accident, do you?” Louis asks, swallowing thickly. He avoids Harry’s gaze, setting the eggs on the shelf. 

Beside him, Harry pauses where he’d been putting some crisps in the pantry, his eyes growing serious. 

“No, Louis, of course not,” he says. “I didn’t think that for a second.” 

“Well, just because that seems to be the story everyone’s settled on,” Louis sniffs, waving a hand. 

Still, he can’t deny that the certainty in his tone offers comfort that Louis gladly accepts. It feels nice to have someone have that much faith in him, to not just automatically assume the worst. It’s been a long time since he’s felt that luxury. 

“And since when have we believed any of that bullshit?” Harry asks, brows furrowed and a teasing smile on his lips. “The people that matter know better than that, Lou.” 

_ The people that matter _ . So why didn’t his own family know better? 

“Thanks,” Louis says quietly. 

He retreats somewhat back into his own head as they empty the rest of the groceries from the bags, organizing them in the pantry and the fridge. When they’re finished his kitchen is more stocked than he remembers seeing it in years now, and it gives him a little hope despite the gloomy conversation topic. 

After the bags are thrown in the bin Harry tells him to sit down at the table, a few moments later bringing out two plates or fresh fruit and cups of orange juice. Louis can’t even remember the last time he made a meal for himself that wasn’t frozen or packaged beforehand. The fruit is cold and sweet on his taste buds, a pleasant change of pace from his every day choices. 

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Harry starts, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Louis hums for him to continue, stacking several more pieces onto his fork to raise up to his mouth. 

“I was thinking, maybe, I could live with you,” Harry murmurs carefully. “It might help you get reacquainted with everything and we used to live together anyway. Just until you get back on your feet and everything. If you’re comfortable with it, that is. My lease is up in L.A. soon and I could just move in here if you wanted,” he suggests. “We could make a project of cleaning everything out, starting fresh.” 

On the inside Louis panics, but he does his best not to show it. When he thinks about it, Harry moving in with him would actually make sense. According to the timeline he’d provided they would’ve still been living together, still very close friends and balancing on the edge of something more. 

If Louis says no it may seem suspicious. But if he says yes, it also leaves more room for mistakes. He glances up at Harry’s curious eyes and weighs his options. In the end, his own loneliness wins out. 

“Okay,” Louis nods. 

“Wow,” Harry says softly to himself, his eyes widening. 

Louis chews his fruit self-consciously. “What?” 

“I just - I didn’t think you’d agree so easily. Back then I would have had to force it out of you,” he chuckles and then sombers, both of them remembering what it used to be like. 

“Yeah, well,” Louis shrugs. “S’different now.” 

The table quiets until the only noises are the sound of silverware clinking on plates and their drinks sloshing when they pick them up, small breaths between bites that Louis feels like are wasted time that he doesn’t really know how to fill anymore. 

“Yeah, it is,” Harry agrees. 

They finish the assortment Harry laid out for them within the next few minutes and Louis reaches for his glass. He raises it into the air and clears his throat, putting on his best smile and hoping it doesn’t look as fake as he feels. 

“To new beginnings,” he says. 

Harry wipes the back of his mouth with a napkin and joins him in raising his own glass, the sound of glass hitting glass filling up the space between his ear drums. 

“To new beginnings,” Harry echoes. 

At the same time they lower their drinks and Louis takes an extra long sip of his juice as if it’ll have the same effect as a shot. It doesn’t. 

Louis stares at the growing plants on his window sill until the afternoon sunlight grows too bright in his eyes, and then he looks at Harry instead. It’s going to be an interesting few months. 

Because that’s all it is, isn’t it? Harry can’t stay here for too long, not with all of his obligations. He doesn’t have the time to stay here and babysit Louis. 

Swallowing another mouthful of juice, Louis repeats the mantra in his head. _ To new beginnings. To new beginnings. To new beginnings.  _

Maybe if he repeats it enough he’ll start believing it. 

+

Liam and Niall, like he’d been anticipating since they’d arrived, tell him they’re leaving before the next week is up. They invite him out for coffee before their flights and Louis agrees, but not before fumbling over himself again when they ask him where he wants to meet. 

Luckily, Liam cut in to remind Niall that he probably doesn’t  _ remember _ which places are around here, and Louis mumbled his agreement. They’d come with the promise to pick him up and take him back home before they left. 

He’s still the slightest bit irritated because usually he doesn’t wake up this early. Even Harry was only been getting up for a run when he told him he was leaving to go with Liam and Niall, which means it was definitely been too early to be out of bed. 

Louis stares blankly at the black cup of coffee in front of him and stirs it, drawing invisible designs with the small straw. Even the caffeine isn’t making him feel any less exhausted. 

The opening interrogation had already taken place on the drive over - how he’s doing and if he remembers anything, to which Louis’d answered a dull  _ good _ and  _ no _ . Now they seem to have moved onto other topics, but still a bit too close to home for Louis’ liking. 

“So you’re living together,” Niall says, voice airy and thin. He keeps messing with his breakfast like it’s got something more interesting to say but Louis knows he’s just trying not to make him anxious. 

Louis nods. “Yeah, we are.” 

“Is it - weird for you?” Liam asks, glancing between him and Niall. 

_ Yes _ , Louis wishes he could say.  _ It’s very weird to live with my ex-bandmate turned ex-boyfriend turned roommate again while also having to pretend I don’t remember any of that _ . Unfortunately, Louis’ also the one that said yes to the whole thing so he’s got to seem somewhat alright with it. 

“Nope. It doesn’t feel weird. We already have somewhat of a routine, I’d say,” Louis tells them, only partially fibbing. 

For the last few days since Harry moved in, it’s been painfully easy. It’s like Louis doesn’t even have to think about how to be around him again because they’d been together for so long that he just falls back into it. 

It’s always been like that for them. They’ve always been able to exist in the same space without competing or overpowering each other. If one of them leaves the sink running on accident or the pantry door open, the other comes along and takes care of it. It’s simple but it’s  _ too _ simple, but how is Louis supposed to complain about that? 

“That’s good,” Niall nods. “You’ve always been good for each other.” 

Liam mutters his agreement as he swallows down the last of his own breakfast, the creased line in his forehead relaxed now. If Harry wasn’t living with him he knows they’d be much more nervous. But Harry’s always been the one to take care of his mess and he supposes now isn’t any different. 

The only caveat is that Louis isn’t supposed to  _ know _ any of that. It’s a strange kind of guilt that puts a stutter in his slow heartbeat, a nagging in his perpetually achy head. An imposter, really, is what he is. 

“We’ll come visit soon,” Liam promises. “I’m sure we can bribe Niall to bring some of those candies that you - oh, uh, that we  _ think _ you’ll like.” 

When they think Louis isn’t looking, Niall tosses him an unimpressed glare and Liam shrugs a quick apology, but Louis’ more than ready to go home. He stands with his cup in hand, waiting for the other two to get their coats. 

He’s too tired to properly appreciate their attempts to fill the silence on the ride back to the penthouse but he does his best to nod along anyway. The familiarity of their presence is something he can’t deny is comforting to him, even if he has to pretend they aren’t that familiar at all. 

They pull up in front of his building and step out of the car to say goodbye and Louis’ stomach drops as his foot lowers to the pavement. They round the car and close in on either side of him, hesitating only for a moment before both of their arms encircle him in a group hug. 

Louis inhales lightly and brings his hands up to grip the outside of their shirts, his fingers tangling in the fabric. 

“You’ve got this, Lou,” Liam says quietly. 

“Yeah, we’re all here for you, buddy,” Niall adds, squeezing him tighter around the shoulders. 

_ No, I don’t have this. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing _ , he thinks.  _ Please don’t leave just yet. _

Slowly they break apart from him with lowered eyes, turning to head back to the car. Louis bites back his emotions and quirks his lips up in the corner as they promise to visit again, raising a small hand to wave at them as they back out of the parking lot. 

Only when they’re fully gone does his resolve begin to crumble, lip trembling as his hand drops lethargically back to his side. He feels like laying down on the pavement and sobbing, yelling about how life is unfair even though most of it is his own fault anyway. But if he does that he isn’t sure he’d ever get up. 

So he turns toward the building and fumbles for his key just so he has something to do with his hands, blinking frustratedly as the picture of their car leaving replays behind his eyelids. He boards the lift and wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve. 

And -  _ dammit _ , why is always he crying so much? 

+

Harry’s always had a good memory. He remembers everything Louis said he liked back on their first real date, and he knows the exact song that’d been playing in the background of the old cafe. If Louis asked him right now what he’d been wearing during any specific concert on tour, he bets Harry could recite it with no issues. 

So it’s no surprise when he makes good on his promise they’d made when he moved in about cleaning out the flat, the notion already gone from Louis’ mind. 

“Do we  _ have _ to?” he groans, hauled upward by Harry’s arm. 

“I think it’s time for a change, Lou,” he says, falling effortlessly back into his use of the old nickname. Louis ignores the pang in his chest and follows him down the hallway to the office. “You’ll feel much better at the end, I promise. Have I ever steered you wrong?” 

It sounds so incredibly cliche that Louis aches to fire something back at him, but nothing comes to mind. He huffs in response to Harry’s knowing chuckle. 

Louis has a love-hate relationship with this room. He has a feeling Harry knows exactly what he’s doing beginning with this one. 

When he first moved in Louis fell in love with it. It’s a big room with tall, vaulted ceilings, large windows overlooking the city on one side of the room. The wall adjacent is lined with mahogany bookshelves he’d had specially made to house some of his favorite books and also his songwriting journals, littered across the shelves in random places. There are more journals than there are actual novels, thick pages worn with sticky notes and pens he’d used to save pages he’d been working on. 

Despite the view, Louis hasn’t written anything in nearly four years now. 

“I’ll start wiping things down, you wanna clean out the desk?” Harry suggests, already turning to fetch the cleaning supplies from the kitchen. Louis sighs as he stares at his retreating back, slipping behind the desk on the opposite side of the room to begin organizing it. 

When he sits back in the chair he has a view of the entire room. He eyes the black plush chairs on the white rug in front of the desk with a squint. It seems like just yesterday he and Harry were sat there, each doing their own writing and throwing each other blushing glances over the edges of their notebooks. Then again, it also feels like that’d been a completely different person. 

Louis doesn’t understand why it’d gone so wrong for him. Everyone else was able to move on, so why wasn’t he? He’d tried for years not to cave into the belief that he simply was never as talented or never had the same drive as the rest of them, but now he isn’t so sure. The longer he sits in the house without even trying the more he believes it. 

“Okay, let’s do this,” Harry breathes, tall and smiling in the doorway. Louis raises an amused brow at the box full of rags and cleaners on his hip and the broom in his other hand. 

“Aye, aye,” he mocks, tearing his eyes away to open up the first drawer of the desk. 

The two top drawers are fairly easy. They’re filled with extra pens and note cards and papers that he doesn’t really need any more, and they land in the bin, one after another. He gets through both of them quickly and moves to the next row, pulling both of them open at once. 

In front of him Harry’s dusting one of the bookshelves and humming to himself, a tune that Louis recognizes but can’t quite put his finger on. He’s been feeling that way a lot recently. Tuning it out, he pulls out another thick stack of papers from the drawer. 

These seem slightly more important so he sticks them into a plastic tray he finds on one of the shelves and thumbs through them quickly. Legal documents, business deals, all old agreements from years before. Louis shuts it closed and moves to the next one. 

The entire process doesn’t take too long except that Louis lingers on things more than he should, reading over documents and examining keepsakes and trinkets he’d kept from traveling during tour. He smiles at a keychain Niall bought for him before sticking it back in its place. 

Finally he’s down to the last drawer. It’s complete chaos when he pulls it open, deep and full of what looks to be trash. There are balled up notebook pages in it and random wrappers, scraps of songs he didn’t like when he wrote them. Huffing at his own disorganized habits, he reaches inside and begins to toss things into the bin, emptying it out until it’s only about half the size. 

Underneath the initial mess, Louis’ hand stutters across a neat stack of folded, weathered notebook paper. He pauses. With furrowed brows he pulls them out, his hand slightly shaky when he keeps them underneath the desk and begins to unfold the top one so Harry won’t see. 

_ Louis _ , it starts in familiar handwriting. 

The gasp that falls from his lips is quiet enough that Harry doesn’t seem to hear it over his own humming, but Louis still jerks his head up to make sure he isn’t looking. 

In his hands are hundreds of handwritten notes that Harry wrote for him while they were in the band. It sounds pointless but Louis remembers the long days when they weren’t allowed to be around each other, when the only form of communication they had was notes that Harry scribbled and stuffed in his back pocket in passing. 

Some of them are little things he’d noticed about Louis when he wasn’t looking, others are random punchlines to a silent joke or lyrics he’d been suddenly inspired to write that’d never seen the light of day. For Louis’ eyes only, he used to say. 

Louis used to cherish these like they were his biggest accomplishment. He traces a finger over some of the words and for just a moment it feels like he’s back there, somewhere behind a stage or in a dressing room, reading Harry’s random thoughts. Grinning like a madman and waiting until they’d get a chance to be alone together again so he could talk about them with him. 

He’d completely forgotten they were in here. 

“You okay?” 

Harry’s paused his singing and his dusting to focus a concerned frown on him, waiting on his answer. 

Nodding quickly, Louis attempts a smile because he doesn’t trust his voice not to give out. He grips the paper hard in his fist, still mindful not to wrinkle it, and nods for a second time when it seems like Harry doesn’t believe him. 

When he turns back to the bookcase, Louis empties out a box and puts all of the notes into it, shutting it and keeping it to put in his bedroom for later. He might not even read them but just knowing they’re there will have enough of an effect, he thinks. 

The rest of this stuff is important to him - or, it had been at one point or another. But the notes, the small, crumpled evidence of he and Harry’s history, might just be the first thing in a long time that makes it feel like the thing beating inside of his chest isn’t just a hollow shell of what it used to be. 

He shuts the drawer with a resounding thud and stands just as Harry finishes the bookcases. Room one is complete. 

+

_ September 12th, 2012 _

_ Lou-eeeeeeeeeeeeeee  _

_ that performance was so sick. you killed it! can you believe this is our job? can you believe that we get to do it together? part of me is still in shock. if this is a dream, i don’t ever want to wake up. unless you’re still there with me, of course.  _

_ p.s. also, can we run to tesco to pick up some more milk tonight? i used the last of it in my smoothie at breakfast. let me know!!!!! :) <3  _

_ H. xxx _

+

“Louis.” 

Smacking his lips together, Louis rolls over on the couch and settles back into the soft blanket. 

“Louis.” 

Brows furrowing, Louis groans questioningly but keeps his eyes shut. When he makes no other movement, a hand comes down on his shoulder and shakes lightly. 

“Louis, wake up,” Harry says. “You’ve got to get dressed, c’mon.” 

“Why are we getting dressed?” Louis mumbles, half of his face still smushed into the pillow. 

“Because you need to get out of the house,” Harry says. “And you can’t do it dressed like  _ that _ .” 

That has him peeking open one eye, squinting at Harry unimpressed. His jokes were never funny. He’d say it too, if he didn’t feel like it took all of the effort in the world to simply open up his mouth. Louis turns his head to go back to sleep but moans again when Harry pulls on his arm until he’s sitting up. 

“Hurry up,” he grins. 

“A  _ minute _ , please,” Louis snaps. He rubs at his eyes with his fists and musters up all of his strength to push himself off of the sofa, standing on wobbly legs to get to the bathroom in the hallway. 

He brushes his teeth in a blur, still blinking sleep from around his eyes, and tries to avoid his reflection as he fusses with his hair. When he’s finished with that he grabs the first shirt from the dryer and slips it on, slipping on his jean shorts because they’re closest to him. 

“Alright,” he drawls, coming back down the hallway, “I’m ready.” 

“Great,” Harry smiles. He’s the slightest bit out of breath and he’s just set down what looks to be a heavy duffel bag next to the front door, but he puts his hands on his hips and appraises Louis with a nod. “Will you water the plant for me while I grab my jacket?” He asks, already halfway around the corner. 

Sighing, Louis heads to the kitchen to get a glass of water and then carries it carefully over to the window sill, moving a leaf to the side to dump the contents over the dirt at the bottom of the vase. 

He’s already watered it once because Harry asked him if he would a few days prior. Despite his lack of gardening skills, the plant still seems to be doing fairly well. His lip curls upward slightly, but he’s startled away from it when Harry comes back. 

“Ready?” he asks, handing Louis a cup of to-go coffee. 

“I don’t know,” Louis mutters. “You won’t tell me where we’re going.” 

“Hush, you,” he rolls his eyes. “Get the keys, let’s go. If you don’t, I’m leaving you here.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Louis calls, rushing to grab the keys from the dish and follow him out the door. 

“Brat,” Harry huffs. 

Once they’re downstairs he opens the trunk so Harry can set the bag inside of it, then tosses the keys to him and heads for the passenger door. Before he gets in he pauses for a moment, fingers hesitating on the door handle. 

Luckily he hadn’t said anything revealing, but this entire exchange caught him a bit off guard. For a bit Louis felt like they were back to normal, or what their normal  _ used _ to be, and he’d been slightly too free with his actions. It’s only been a few days - he can’t afford to be so careless. 

Louis opens the door and slides into the seat, pulling the buckle across his chest until it slides into place. He gives Harry a tight smile as they pull out of the parking lot. 

“Music?” Harry offers, hand already on the radio. 

The low hum of whatever indie song is on is enough to make Louis less anxious, and he’s grateful for the noise so he doesn’t have to make conversation. He glances across the car as Harry drums his fingers on the side of the door, the window cracked to let in a current of cool morning air. 

His posture is relaxed even as Louis’ remains stiff, driving with one hand on the wheel. Despite his rush to get on the road this morning, Harry glances in the rearview and takes a back road instead of the motorway. 

“You missed the turn,” Louis drawls. 

“We’re not going to the city,” is all Harry offers him. 

Suspicion woven into his brow, Louis runs his eyes over him one last time and then moves his gaze out the window, watching the trees pass by in a blur. The early hour catches up with him and Louis finds his eyes beginning to close slowly even as he nurses his coffee. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes but he’s just beginning to relax into his seat with the cool air and soft hum of the music fading out - until the opening chords of  _ What Makes You Beautiful _ start up on the radio. Louis’ head snaps over to him. 

“Oh, God,” Louis groans. “Please change it.” 

“Absolutely not,” Harry grins, cranking the volume high and straightening up in his seat. “ _ You’re insecure, don’t know what for. You’re turning heads when you walk through the do-o-or _ ,” he sings loudly. 

“No, make it stop,” Louis whines, covering his ears with his hands. 

“C’mon, Louis,” he shouts over the music. “You’ve got to sing it with me.” 

“I do not,” he argues. 

“ _ Everyone else in the room can see it _ ,” Harry croons, “ _ everyone else but _ you.” 

He punctuates the last syllable with a pointed look in Louis’ direction, eager green eyes meeting Louis’ narrowed gaze. 

“You’re a dork,” Louis yells. 

Harry slaps the roof of the car comically and shakes out his hair, upping the volume the last few notches. 

“ _ Baby, you light up my world like nobody else, the way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed. But when you smile at the ground it ain’t hard to tell you don’t know _ -” he cuts himself off, holding an imaginary microphone in front of Louis’ face. 

The pause feels like a long time but in reality, it only takes Louis a split second to shout, completely out of tune and slightly delayed, “ _ You don’t know you’re beautiful _ .” 

Pleased with himself, Harry pulls his hand back and gives him a bright grin, finally turning the radio back down to a normal volume. When Louis looks back out the window the view turns from green trees to white sand, the skyline fully visible as the sun begins to rise higher in the sky. 

“Are we going to the beach?” Louis asks, sitting up to get a better look out the window. 

This time it’s Harry that offers no response, his dimples on full display as he makes a turn for  Ruislip Lido  Beach, a giant lake in West London that Louis’ only ever been to once or twice, and the closest thing they have to the ocean that isn’t thousands of miles away. 

Without even meaning to Louis laughs, shocked at the choice of surprise. He unbuckles before the car even stops and throws open the side door when it does, hopping out onto the pavement and leaving his shoes in the car. 

It’s still early enough that there’s only a few people here, and the hills and half-mountains give them more than enough privacy. Louis breathes in the clean air while Harry pops open the trunk to pull out the bag he’d packed for them, slinging it over his shoulder and coming to stand next to him. 

“Let’s go,” Harry nudges him forward, walking toward the water. 

The minute Louis’ toes hit the sand he sighs, but not like he normally does. It feels fresh beneath his feet, grainy and earthy and warm despite the cool weather. Louis kicks some of it just because he can, and then jogs to catch up with Harry down the beach. 

They make it a little over halfway to the water before Harry stops and sets down the bag, pulling out some towels and sunscreen, laying it out on the grass. Louis glances around for a bathroom or a building, raising a brow at him. 

“Did you bring our bathing suits?” 

Harry’s hand pauses where he’d been unfolding another towel, his eyes shutting as he takes his bottom lip into his mouth. 

And then huffs a small laugh. “Shit,” he curses. “I knew I forgot something.” 

Tossing his head back, Louis’ mouth stretches across his face again, his cheeks flushed and high with his smile. 

“Of course you did,” he mutters theatrically. The waves rise up and crash onto the shore in the background and Louis glances back at him. “Well,” he hums, “do you have a problem with getting in with what you’ve got on?” 

Harry glances at his own outfit and then shrugs. “I don’t if you don’t.” 

“I bet I can beat you there,” Louis reasons airily. 

“Oh, you do?” Brows raised, Harry starts backing away from their things toward the water, going for subtle while Louis mirrors his movements. 

“Mhm,” Louis nods. He fixes Harry with narrowed eyes as if to challenge him further. 

For a moment they’re both perfectly still, and then, between one breath and the next, they’re flying down the beach to see who can get there first. Louis dodges several sand castles and a few people sunbathing, his heart rattling in his chest and unused to all of the movement. 

Even with his efforts they make it to the water at roughly the same time, struggling to stop their feet once they hit the coldness of the small current. Louis thinks he might pass out but then he catches sight of Harry’s face and he stills as his world narrows down again, his head ceasing it’s spinning. 

“A tie,” Harry breathes. He steps high through the water to offer a hand to Louis to signal the end of their race. 

Instead of shaking it, Louis reaches down and scoops up a handful of lake water, tossing it directly in his face. 

His cheeks puff out as he holds in his laughter, Harry’s eyes shut, mouth open, and hair dripping flat against his head. Then he peeks one eye open to look at Louis, his head tilting to one side. 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

Louis squeals and dives off to the side just as Harry tosses his own handful of water at him, but they’re both already in the water from the waist down now anyway. Still they dance around each other, throwing droplets of murky water like snowballs and cheering when they manage to hit their target. 

Eventually Louis trips over a lower spot in the water and lands on his side on the wet sand where it meets the tide, still laughing as Harry collapses next to him, soaked from head to toe. He can feel him staring without even turning in that direction. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Louis asks, his cheeks flushed and still giddy, wiping water from his eyes and mouth. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry breathes. He shakes his head, “Just - remembering.” 

“Don’t,” Louis says on instinct, backtracking when Harry eyes him cautiously. “I mean - I can’t do that so I think it’s only fair that we just make  _ new _ memories.” 

Another wave of water comes up to their shoulders and Louis shields his face from the onslaught, peeking between his fingers at Harry. 

“Alright,” he says slowly once it passes. 

He sort of looks like he might say something else, so on instinct Louis splashes him with water again and rolls away, water crashing in his ears and wet sand clinging to his skin. He soaks it in while he can, even when he gets a face full of what feels like liquid salt tossed back at his face. Louis blinks up at the sun that’s now fully risen in the sky and stares until Harry’s shadow takes its place. 

+

_ June 6th, 2013 _

_ our names are on everyone’s lips  _

_ we’re playing all over the world  _

_ but my heart will stay here with you  _

_ because it’s already yours ;)  _

_ H. xx _

+

The kitchen is next up on their list of cleaning and organizing. When Louis asks why they even need to do that one Harry gives him an unimpressed frown until he shuts up and follows him in there anyway. 

“It’s important,” Harry insists, already opening cabinets and drawers. “The kitchen is where you get nourishment from. You should be nice and organized in here so you always have healthy choices.” 

“You gonna adopt me into your health cult now?” Louis tosses several brown bananas into the bin and tries not to wince and prove Harry’s point. 

“It isn’t a  _ cult _ , it’s a lifestyle. If you’re not careful I’ll make you run with me in the mornings too.” 

“Spare me,” Louis pleads sarcastically. 

Moving away from the countertop, he squats down to look underneath the sink, all of his old pots and pans littered underneath the large cabinet. He can’t remember the last time he cooked a meal for himself but several memories pop into his head from when Harry used to cook them dinner, rust still on some of the trays from when he’d baked and boiled. Louis wishes he’d paid more attention to the recipes. 

Shutting the cabinet, he stands and moves to the pantry, starting with the top shelf. One by one he checks each label on the packages and throws out the ones that are expired. Guiltily, he keeps a box of chocolates hidden toward the back so Harry won’t throw them away if he sees them. 

Beside him Harry’s just finished going through the fridge and he opens up the freezer to start with that side. Every few seconds Louis hears something else hit the trash can and he grimaces, picturing his favorite foods tossed away so carelessly. Even if they aren’t really the best for him. 

Suddenly Harry’s head leans back around the door and Louis freezes like he’s been caught, holding a cereal box in his hand. 

“I’m serious, though. Finding food that makes you feel good can change your entire life. Which means,” Harry pauses, holding up several of his frozen dinners over the top of the freezer door, “no more of these.” 

He tosses them promptly into the bin. Louis blinks, Louis sighs. He knows he’s not going to get his way with this. 

“Some of those are actually good,” he mutters. 

“Not good  _ for _ you,” Harry fires back. 

Louis can’t think of a comeback for that so he sticks his tongue out instead, like some immature school boy, making Harry’s laugh echo around the kitchen. Minutes pass as they continue to clean, and then Harry clears his throat. 

“I know they said not to bring up this kind of thing, but do you remember the little cupcakes we used to make for everyone in the house during bootcamp?” Harry doesn’t look up at him but he sounds nostalgic where he’s stacking up some extra plates in the top cabinet. 

“Yeah,” Louis huffs a laugh underneath his breath, picturing them inside of his head. “Awful,  _ awful _ things. Can’t believe people even ate them.” 

“Hey, I’m a good baker,” Harry argues indignantly, “they weren’t half bad.” 

“A good baker, maybe, but not a decorator.”

Harry pretends to throw a plate at him and Louis ducks, sputtering at his own joke. They toss more trash toward the bin at the same time and smile at each other simultaneously. As much as Louis hates to admit it, cleaning things out is beginning to make him feel better than he thought it would. 

“You’re going to wish you could have cupcakes after all of this,” Harry mutters. 

Scowling, Louis throws out the very last expired packages on his lower shelf and stands, shutting the pantry door. 

“Maybe I’ll just go out and get some,” he says. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you how to cook instead,” Harry shuts the freezer doors as well and tosses him a challenging look over his shoulder. 

“That didn’t -” Louis cuts himself off abruptly. He’d been about to say  _ that didn’t go well last time _ , but technically, ‘last time’ doesn’t exist for him anymore. He clears his throat, “That probably wouldn’t go well.” 

“One of these days,” Harry promises. 

He crosses the kitchen and washes his hands again, scooting to the side to make room for Louis at the sink as well. Even though it’s twice the size of a regular one, Louis’ directly next to him still and they’re pressed against each other’s sides, much like they’d been when they’d all eaten lunch here before he’d moved in. 

Harry finishes first and reaches around him to get the towel, trapping him in for a few seconds between his body and the sink. For a few seconds Louis’ transported back in time to when he’d be pressed up against the wall of a random dressing room, Harry close behind him just like this. 

“Only if we can have cupcakes for dessert,” Louis reasons, quickly moving out of his way and drying his hands off on the towel. His attempt to break the tension isn’t fully successful but it does get Harry laughing again, back into familiar territory. 

Relieved, Louis lets his own lips curve upward unbidden, taking a moment to fold the washcloth and lay it back over the edge of the sink. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Harry smirks. He stretches and twists his back both ways until his shoulders loosen, getting himself a glass of water from the fridge. “I think we did a pretty good job,” he glances around the clean kitchen, moving the bin back underneath the cabinet. “I’m going to shower and then we’ll get dinner?” 

“Sounds good,” Louis nods. 

“Don’t forget to water the plant,” Harry calls from the hallway. 

Turning back to the sink once more, Louis fills up a glass that was already’d already been set out and carries it over to the window to the small plant. It’s becoming a routine now that he waters the plant each day, although some days he admittedly forgets. But somehow it’s still alive despite its one brown leaf and the way it bends awkwardly on one side, and Louis’ grown an attachment to it in the time its been on the window sill. 

Once he dumps the water into it he situates the plant so it’s leaning more on the glass, it’s lazy side propped up so maybe it’ll be encouraged to grow that way. Then he puts the glass next to it and sits down in the chair at the dining table to wait for Harry to finish showering. 

In more ways than one, he is glad that Harry moved in with him. It’s been good so far, cleaning things out, having someone to keep him moving, not being alone so much. Louis’ trying to just take it as it is and appreciate the upsides, but he can’t help the persistent nagging in the back of his head. 

Harry being here feels good right now, but how is it going to feel when he leaves? He’s finally come across something he hadn’t really thought about when he began this whole memory loss thing - he has a chance to do everything over again, yes, but Louis knows himself a bit better than that. He tends to make the same mistakes over and over again, and hoping it’ll be different now isn’t a foolproof plan. 

So what happens when he gets attached to Harry all over again and then he leaves? Louis can’t just allow his happiness to rely completely on him or else his second chance is virtually useless. He can’t afford to lose any more time. 

He runs his eyes over the plant again, curved and jutted out in odd places with vines growing haphazardly out of the bottom. Still, it’s alive. It’s leaning on the glass mostly and depending on the sunlight and water it receives, but for the most part Louis’ managed to keep it alive all on his own. It just needs a little love. 

Maybe one day he can learn to do the same for himself too. 

+

_ May 7th, 2014 _

_ i think i’m in love with you  _

_ H. x _

+

As a reward for cleaning out both of the hallways and the guest room, Harry surprises him with another little adventure. Louis actually gets to sleep in this time so he’s much more excited about it, albeit startled when Harry comes flying through the door into the living room and tells him they have to leave  _ now _ . 

It’s gotten to the point now that Louis simply doesn’t ask any questions, standing up to slip on his shoes. 

“Hold on, hold on,” he mumbles, trying to get his heel into his shoe and fill up a glass of water at the same time. 

He stumbles over to the window and finally manages to get the shoe on, dumping the water into the vase on the window sill. He drops the glass back into the sink and jogs to the door where Harry’s holding it open for him. 

“Let’s go, c’mon,” he rushes, handing Louis a lunch bag to put over his shoulder. 

“I’m ready,” Louis tells him, slipping through the door as he shuts it and locks it, already walking fast toward the lift. “Why are we hurrying?” 

“We only have a little time. Don’t want to waste it,” Harry explains, stepping out the doors and resuming his fast pace to the car. 

Without pushing him further Louis makes it to the passenger side and yanks open the door, quickly buckling himself in as Harry pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. He’d already drank Harry’s health smoothie earlier and he feels energized because of that and because of the lunch Harry made for them earlier today, not quite as tired as he usually is at this hour in the day. 

This time around the car ride is much shorter, and Louis tosses a confused glance in Harry’s direction when he takes a fairly obvious turn off of the motorway. Although Louis knows it’s always been there, he doesn’t think he’s ever been down it before. He leans forward slightly in his seat to get a better view out the front of the car. 

A few minutes pass on what seems to just be a lonely road with some old trees lining the pathway, some scattered branches and leaves over the road. Then they make it over a hill and the brown turns to bright green, a sign off to the right as they make another turn. 

_ Arboretum _ , it reads. 

Louis knows vaguely what that means but he’s never been here before despite living so close to it. He moves his gaze out of his window to look at the flowers planted along the entrance, colorful and assorted in a captivating pattern. 

The car slows to a stop and Harry’s window rolls down to speak with the person in the welcome booth, exchanging a few words while Louis tries to hear what they’re saying. A card is scanned and the gate in front of them lifts, Louis watching it close back in the rearview mirror behind them. 

Pulling forward, Harry parks the car off to the side in the gravel and opens his door, hopping out to the side. Within a few moments he’s opening Louis’ as well and helping him out. 

“This is so exciting,” Louis tells him. He walks with Harry until they reach the pathway into the park, taking in all of the scenery already in front of them. “Where is everyone?” 

He hasn’t been here before but he knows they live in a fairly popular part of town. He can’t imagine that it’s so empty at this hour in the day. Harry goes bashful for a moment and looks down at his feet, clearing his throat. 

“I, uh - I may have rented the place out.” 

“What,” Louis chokes. 

“C’mon,” Harry urges him forward, “I want you to enjoy this. We only have about an hour.” 

Louis lets him off the hook but he doesn’t forget, his own cheeks flushed as he keeps an eye on Harry while they walk. For a second he nearly reaches over to grab his hand, but he realizes what he’s doing and quickly brings his fingers back to his side as soon as they graze the side of Harry’s hand. 

After a bit more walking they make it to the middle of the park, a long block of pavement with all of the different plants lining the sides. Each one has the name and description in front of them and Louis rushes to one side, taking each of them in. 

“Which one is your favorite?” Harry asks him, running his fingers over some of the petals on a display a bit further down. 

Louis glances around them at all of the different colors and leaves around him and hums. There’s one of nearly every color, shape, and size, but a smaller one toward the end that reminds him of the plant he has at home catches his eye. 

“This one,” he says, pointing to the corner where long stems sprout out from the dirt to reveal several green flowers. 

“Gladiolus,” Harry nods, coming to stand next to him and reading the sign. “A good choice. S’pretty.” 

As Louis begins to move on to the next group of them, Harry lingers at the one Louis pointed out. He stares hard at the plaque in front of the flowers and then frowns thoughtfully, tilting his head. Louis takes a moment to admire the rest of the flowers on the corridor but then returns to Harry when he still hasn’t moved. 

“Harry?” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” his body jerks, snapping out of his trance. “All finished here?” 

Louis nods and turns, but even then it takes Harry another minute to abandon the flower and catch up with him. 

Just past the enclosure is an open air garden with places to sit, so Harry tugs their lunch boxes off of their shoulders and settles on the bench in the middle of the pink flowers, right in front of the fountain. It’s gorgeous, and Louis can’t believe he had no idea this was here. Harry pulls out their lunch and they begin to eat. 

“Lou?” he asks, picking at the crust of his sandwich. 

“Yeah?” Louis hums. 

“Do you have, uhm, any questions? Like, about the past, I mean. Is there anything you want to know?” Harry’s eyes are kind but Louis knows he can’t take the opportunity. 

Gulping down the mouthful of food he has in his mouth, Louis takes a sip of his water for a long moment. He pauses and sets the sandwich down, clearing his throat. He could pretend to ask questions but he feels like it’s easier to mess up that way, to stumble and say something that’ll give him away like he’s already done several times now. Better safe than sorry, he guesses. 

“I think it’s better if we just - leave the past in the past, yeah?” 

Harry nods slowly but goes back to eating his food. He still looks the slightest bit suspicious and Louis scrambles for something else to say to move them away from the topic. He clears his throat and nudges Harry with an elbow. 

“Besides, I like the present quite a bit,” he smiles warmly at Harry, ignoring the guilt swirling around in his abdomen. He washes it down with another long drink. It doesn’t make his throat burn any less. 

“Me too,” Harry says, but his own smile doesn’t reach very far. Louis can tell there’s something he wants to say but he can’t risk letting him say it right now, can’t give himself away when things are going so well. 

“Which was your favorite?” He rushes, gesturing back to the flowers around them. 

“Hm,” Harry hums around his mouthful. “I don’t know if I can choose just one. They’re all very lovely.” 

“Well, I still like the green gladiator,” Louis says earnestly. 

“Green  _ gladiolus _ ,” Harry corrects him, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I suppose that one was really nice.” 

“You  _ suppose _ ,” Louis mocks in Harry’s accent. It’s thinner now, more like Los Angeles and less like London. 

He wonders if Harry enjoys being here with him as much as Louis does or if he misses his other life, free of obligations like these. Like Louis. 

“Shut up,” he elbows him. 

A laugh bubbling up his chest, Louis elbows him back. “You shut up.” 

“ _ You _ ,” Harry insists. 

“Yo-” Louis goes to fire back, but Harry shoves a piece of sandwich into his mouth to stop him from answering, a pleased dimple popping up in his cheek. 

Chewing it up and swallowing it, Louis can’t even bring himself to be angry with the interruption. He grins back and laughs harder, stealing glances with Harry until the giddiness dies down. 

Before their hour is up Harry packs up their trash and moves them further along, skimming through the rest of the park while they still have it to themselves. This time when their hands brush as they walk, Louis doesn’t hold it, but he doesn’t pull away either. 

Sometimes he thinks he can feel it in his bones, even if the evidence isn’t visible outwardly. He can feel the thrum of emotion when he’s excited, when he’s nervous, when he’s happy. He can  _ feel _ . He used to be so afraid of feeling that he simply resorted to being numb, too scared to try it again. 

Somehow, when Harry’s here, when he has someone to share it all with, it doesn’t seem quite as daunting anymore. 

+

_ January 16th, 2015 _

_ keep your head up, beautiful boy. i’ll see you later tonight. they can’t keep us away from each other for much longer. fair warning -- once i kiss you i don’t know if i’ll be able to stop. but what’s new? i’ll see you soon, lou. keep smiling for me. i love you.  _

_ H.  _ _ x _

+

Harry makes good on his promise to make Louis start running with him. Much to Louis’ dismay he drags him out of bed at half six just before the sun comes up, shoving a change of gym clothes in his face and pushing him to the bathroom to get dressed. 

He’s got some sort of health smoothie ready for him when he’s finished brushing his teeth, and Louis accepts it in a frustrated, sleepy haze, but he’s much too tired to complain properly. Harry makes him down the entire thing before they leave. 

Louis trips several times before they make it even a mile from the penthouse but Harry doesn’t laugh at him, just slows down and lets him catch his breath before they resume walking.  _ Just _ walking, luckily, because Louis isn’t sure if he could manage a jog just yet no matter what kind of healing properties are in his health drinks. 

They make it all the way down to the end of the trail outside of the city and Louis turns to head back home, but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm pulling him in the other direction. Louis’ a bit ashamed of the way his face crumbles when they begin walking somewhere else completely. 

“The house is that way,” he points lazily, as if Harry doesn’t already know that. 

“We aren’t finished yet,” Harry continues walking. “We’re making lunch and we’re missing some ingredients.” 

Wiping some of the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his arm, Louis falls back into step with him as they round the corner back into the city streets instead of the sidewalks near the trees. 

“A farmer’s market?” Louis asks. He hadn’t even known they had one of those near his house, much less one of this size. It takes up several blocks with big tents set up on the sides, fruit stands and fresh food all around them. 

Harry picks up a handmade shopping basket and pulls him off to the side, beginning to scan the assortments they have available. 

“What are we making?” 

“I’m thinking a salad and some flatbread,” he hums, stopping at a stall to pick out some homemade tomato sauce and seasoning. “Sound okay?” 

“Actually that sounds great,” Louis frowns thoughtfully, eyeing his choices in the basket as they continue. “I figured you were going to make me eat some kind of avocado-kale-almond concoction.” 

“Almond? Since when do I put almonds in my avocado and kale?” 

“You know-” Louis waves a hand, “like the milk. Almond milk. Sometimes you use it in smoothies and stuff.” 

He clears his throat and looks away to hide his blush, pretending to examine some fruit. Harry chuckles beside him. 

“Whatever you say, Lou,” he concedes. 

The softness in his tone nearly makes Louis’ footsteps falter again, too familiar inside of his ears. He gets a sense of deja vu even as Harry seems to keep walking unbothered, and for the first time Louis wonders what this might be like for him. 

Louis doesn’t know what he’d do if he thought Harry didn’t remember any of their past. There’d been bad times but there were good times too, and Louis cherishes those like nothing else. They’d been the best times of his life. All at once he’s struck by just how grateful he is that he actually  _ does _ still have those memories. 

Stuck in his head, he startles when Harry waves a hand in front of him. 

“Lou? You ready?” 

“Uh, yeah. I’m ready,” he nods. 

Like usual, Louis finds himself retreating back into his own head for a bit as they pay for their items and begin the walk back to the house. The clear air should be somewhat freeing but he can’t seem to shake his earlier thoughts, the idea preventing him from fully enjoying the walk that was supposed to be relaxing. 

By the time they’re back home his feet ache, and Harry sends him to change clothes and shower while he sets up the ingredients in the kitchen. Instead of going all the way to his room Louis grabs some fresh clothes from the laundry and decides to use the shower in the hall bath so he can help finish lunch quicker. 

The shower itself doesn’t take long, and Louis steps out and dries off as quickly as he can. When he reaches for his clothes, however, he realizes his issue. 

The bundle of dark clothing he’d picked randomly and shoved underneath his arm is in fact  _ not _ a shirt and trousers. It’s four pairs of boxers. 

Cursing, Louis tosses some of his wet hair off of his forehead and bites his lip, glancing toward the door. The laundry room is only down the hall and he can probably make it if he hurries, but the kitchen is right at the end of the corridor. If Harry is anywhere near the archway he’d get a clear view of Louis in a towel. 

Which, it isn’t like he hasn’t seen any of it before, but things are  _ different _ now, he supposes. They’re friends. Mates. Mates don’t run around each other in their underwear. Typically. 

There doesn’t seem to be much of an option though, so Louis holds his breath and presses his ear against the wood, listening for movement on the other side. He waits several beats but gets nothing. Harry must already be sat at the table, he figures. 

With that in mind he slips on a pair of the boxers and just holds the towel over his chest and front, opening the door the slightest bit to peek out. The hallway seems clear as well. 

Quietly, Louis slips out and turns off the light, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the kitchen. One foot and then the other, he pads softly across the hall, halfway to the laundry room where he can get some clothes. 

“Hey, Lou-” Harry’s voice sounds and Louis gasps, the towel falling from his grip. He scrambles to pick it back up but it’s already too late, Harry’s eyes lowered and focused downward as Louis stutters and grips it tighter to his chest. 

Harry was’d been in his room, then. The complete opposite direction that Louis hadn’t even been paying attention to.  _ Of course, _ he reasons. 

His heartbeat rabbiting in his chest, he waits as Harry tries to shake himself out of his reverie, his eyes flicking back up to Louis’. He seems just as affected, his cheeks pink and his throat bobbing. 

Louis wonders what he’s picturing. If it was the time in Glasgow or the one in New York. Maybe it was even here, when he’d taken Louis right on the couch down the hall. On the bed across the house. Against the wall next to the front door. 

Or maybe he’s picturing their first time, nearly as painfully awkward as this, when they’d both had no idea what they were doing. When Louis was almost too insecure to do anything at all. When Harry promised that that was fine too. 

Louis has to stop himself before he remembers too much. He tugs the towel all the way around him and blinks once, twice, jabbing a finger in the air to point at the door. 

“I forgot, I - my clothes,” he offers. 

“Sure, yeah. Right,” Harry nods, chin suddenly high as he looks up at the ceiling. He taps his foot once and licks over his lips. “I’ll just get lunch started while you - while you change. Yeah.” 

He waits until Louis’ out of sight and then a bit to proceed down the hall. Louis leans his back against the laundry room door and blows out a heavy exhale. Unable to help himself, he lays out the towel on the dryer and leans over it,  _ remembering _ until the ache between his thighs lessens enough that he can go back to pretending he doesn’t have the memories of Harry’s hands all over him. On him. In him. 

Laughing abruptly to himself, Louis inhales sharply and bangs his head against the door after he wipes himself off, tossing the rag in the wash and pulling on a fresh change of clothes. He’s  _ got _ to get a hold of himself. 

+

_ August 5th, 2015 _

_ today was nice. i miss seeing you when it’s just us, like it used to be. sometimes when we’re out and i look over and see you i wonder what would happen if i just leaned over and kissed you in front of everyone.  _

_ i wonder if you’d let me.  _

_H._

+

They’ve finally made it around to cleaning Louis’ bedroom. He’d been dreading it for many reasons, but somehow Harry’s optimistic energy grows to be infectious when he’s so adamant about it, all dimples and excitement. It’s just  _ almost _ enough to make him less nervous about it. 

Louis’ bedroom is a mess. It’s a cave, more like. He’s got keepsakes taking over all of his surface space that don’t even really mean all that much to him anymore, boxes in the bottom of his closet with old clothes that have been there since he moved in. On top of that there are hanging clothes that he doesn’t even wear anymore that he’s been meaning to donate but never got around to it. 

The walls are painted dark and his furniture is black and overall there’s very little color inside of it. He’s so used to just dragging himself up to bed without any light that when Harry flicks on the lamps it feels like an entirely different room. 

So there’s that, on top of the fact that it’s just generally embarrassing. Harry’s been in here when it was still well taken care of, when the blinds were always open and the bed always made until they inevitably messed it up again. 

He’s ashamed of how much he’s let it decay. Still, if Harry notices (which Louis knows he does), he doesn’t say a word. 

“Okay, where should we start?” he waits for Louis’ answer with his hands on his hips. 

“The closet, probably,” Louis shrugs. “It’s a mess.” 

Opening up the doors so both of them can step inside, Louis’ eyes widen at the reminder of how much he has in here. He steps forward and runs a hand over some of it, already having some idea of what he wants to keep and what he wants to give out. 

He bends down and empties an old box onto the floor and sets it off to the side for things that he knows he wants to donate. It only takes a few minutes to fill it back up, and it makes Louis happy to know that maybe someone else will get some use out of the items instead of just tossing them in the bin. 

After Louis sorts through them initially Harry comes behind him and starts organizing everything by color and season, which Louis rolls his eyes at but thinks might actually be a wonderful way to choose his outfits from now on. 

“This stuff is so nice, Lou. Why don’t you ever wear it anywhere?” Harry asks, holding up a three piece suit one of his manager’s sent him before a movie premiere. Louis remembers sleeping through the premiere to get rid of a hangover, and then he remembers getting yelled at immediately afterward. He wonders if it’s something he should have returned. 

“I don’t know really,” Louis shrugs. “Just haven’t felt like dressing up lately.” 

That, and also the fact that he doesn’t have anywhere to go if he  _ did _ feel like it. He folds another t-shirt to put into the box, grabbing a pair of shoes he sees to go in there alongside it. 

“Well, you’ve got the suit and the trousers. All you’re missing is a nice bow tie.” 

“A bow tie?” Louis’ brows raise. “Who are you and what have you done with Harry?” 

Chuckling, Harry hangs it back up on the rack and wipes some lint from the shoulder pad, handling the piece carefully. He moves on to the next shirt but Louis sees his eyes linger on the ensemble. 

“I’ve really broadened my fashion horizons, Lou. Anything can look good when it’s styled correctly.” He glances pointedly in Louis’ direction, “Even a bow tie.” 

Louis snorts, rifling through another box of old shirts he finds in the corner. “Like the big pink one Liam used to have?” 

“I - okay, maybe not  _ that _ bow tie.” Harry grins, “The one that had the polka dots on it,” he mutters under his breath with a shake of his head, “God, I can’t believe he even put that thing on in the first place.” 

“Yeah,” Louis laughs, nodding excitedly. “It was awful. I think he scarred just about everyone at the show with how gaudy it was. The sparkles probably blinded some of them.” 

He’s still sifting through the clothes but he pauses when Harry gives no reaction, flicking his eyes over to him. He’s still staring hard at the suit, his forehead wrinkled. 

“Wasn’t that one of our last shows?” Harry asks, his face surprisingly blank, void of any of the laughter that’d been there before. 

_ Shit _ . 

“I - uhm, I think so, yeah,” Louis nods, straightening. “Some of my memories must be coming back now, the doctor said that might happen - especially if I’m going through old belongings. It was probably one of the shirts or something,” he rambles. 

In slow motion, Harry nods. “That’s great, Lou,” he says mechanically. 

He hopes Harry can’t hear his heart hammering in his chest with some kind of super hearing, because it’s echoing so loud in Louis’ ears right now that he’s dizzy with it. He can’t afford to be making those kinds of mistakes right now,  _ dammit _ . If he’s not careful he’s going to blow his own cover. 

“Weren’t we gonna meet Niall and Liam for dinner after their flight?” Louis asks suddenly, pushing the box off to the side for later. “Maybe we should go ahead and get dressed. If we get there first we can get double appetizers like usual,” he teases hesitantly. 

“Sounds good,” Harry nods. He takes one last look at the suit then hangs it up neatly in the closet, shutting the doors and turning to leave the room. 

When he’s out of the room Louis shuts the door to change into his clothes for dinner. With shaky fingers, he locks the door and bends down to pick up an old t-shirt, sliding his own off to replace it. He grabs some trousers from another one of the boxes that he hasn’t seen in a while, some of his old favorites. They still fit him like a glove. 

Moving to stand in front of the mirror, Louis examines the outfit as his heartbeat returns to a normal rate. He looks like he did years ago, the same shirt, jeans, and shoes that he often wore when they were bussed from place to place on tour. It’s so familiar somehow, but it’s like he remembers a different person wearing the clothes. 

Harry knocks several times on his door and Louis jumps, his eyes straying from his outfit once again. 

“You coming, Lou?” 

“Coming,” he calls back. 

His reflection glares angrily back at him even when Louis pleads with it, when he tries to reason with himself why he’s doing the right thing. The face in the mirror doesn’t budge. 

Louis exits the room feeling like he’s two different people merged into one, and completely unsure of which he really wants to be. 

+

_ November 21st, 2015 _

_ you didn’t even look at me today. i’m worried about you. did i do something wrong?  _

_H._

+

Putting a wrench in his appetizer plans, Liam and Niall are already at the restaurant when they arrive. Despite that, Louis’ smile is completely genuine when he sees them waiting in the booth, and he rushes forward to hug them as soon as it’s socially acceptable. 

“Lou,” Niall shouts, throwing his arms around Louis’ shoulders. 

Liam’s follow soon after and then Harry closes in behind him, the four of them in a giant group hug. It takes a few minutes until they part and take their seats around the booth, his and Harry’s thighs touching underneath the table cloth. 

“So, anything new?” Liam asks, “Catch us up.” 

“It’s been really good, I think,” Louis nods. “I feel good.”

“What about you, H? You like being back in London okay?” Niall asks him, nursing his drink  _ and _ bits of the appetizer that Louis was excited about before. 

“I’m loving it, actually,” he tucks a smile into his shoulder, his eyes skidding off to Louis for a second before they look back at the others. “Louis and I have always - I mean, we just, we know how to be around each other, I think. It’s nice to be back.” 

Louis can’t help his grin, not even when Niall narrows his eyes with a smirk. “And the memories?” Niall adds hesitantly. 

“Not - no, I mean - not yet,” Louis fumbles, quickly moving from blushing to nervous once again. 

Always the mediator, Liam swoops in and shakes his head, giving him a sympathetic smile. “That’s okay!”

The anxious feeling claws at him stronger than it had before. He’d been so excited to see them but now it’s all tainted, ruined at the reminder of his own mistake. It’s a cycle he’s familiar with by this point, but what is he supposed to do about it now? It’s much too late to tell them without repercussions. 

Harry changes the subject and squeezes Louis’ thigh to comfort him, but Louis feels wrong taking his sympathy. Taking  _ any _ of their sympathy. 

Setting his drink down, Louis excuses himself to the restroom and walks quickly away from the booth toward the back of the restaurant. 

Luckily it isn’t too crowded and there’s a lounge area near the bathrooms, so Louis collapses onto one of the sleek sofas and buries his face in his hands, trying desperately to get control of his own breathing before the tears follow, as they often do. 

He counts to ten over and over again inside of his head until it syncs with the beat of his heart. There’s no way he can keep doing this. He wants Harry here and he wants his friends but not at this cost, not if he’s going to feel like this every time he has to uphold his fib. 

Louis makes it only a few more rounds of counting before there are familiar footsteps coming from the side, and when he glances up, Harry’s standing over him, head tilted and lips pursed. He holds out a hand to help Louis stand from the sofa. 

“C’mon,” he says. 

“I don’t - I just need a second,” Louis tells him. 

“I told them you were sick and we were heading home. They’re staying at a hotel downtown so we can see them again tomorrow.” 

Still slightly shaky, Louis slips his hand into Harry’s larger one and accepts the shoulder to lean on, keeping his head down as they walk out of the back of the restaurant. He’s so busy staring at the linoleum that he doesn’t realize they hadn’t been headed back toward the entrance, and they’re standing at a door marked no entry. 

“Harry-” Louis starts. 

“Hush,” he says. “C’mon.” 

Gripping his hand tighter, he follows Harry behind the door and up a flight of stairs, still holding on when he pushes open a second door. 

“Are we supposed to be up here?” Louis whispers, checking to make sure no one’s followed them. 

“Don’t worry about it, yeah?” Harry smiles, a dimple carving out his cheek, and Louis blinks at him until the leftover tears are gone. When he glances away from Harry again, they’re on the rooftop of the building. 

Louis gasps as the skyline of buildings blinks bright lights at them, lit up as the sky goes dark. Harry tugs on his arm until they’re standing only a bit back from the edge, looking out over the entire city. 

“I’m sorry they asked you about that,” Harry murmurs, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of Louis’ hand. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Louis shakes his head. 

“It’s not,” he insists, “you’re allowed to heal at your own pace and I hate that they made you upset. I know they mean well and they care about you and maybe I’m saying too much now but I just - I don’t think they get us - get  _ you _ \- the way that I do.” 

Harry swallows as he tightens his grip, their shoulders aligned. The breath is knocked out of Louis at his words, the most honest he’s been since he came back. It seems like something the old Harry would say, the one who isn’t too careful not to mention something he shouldn’t. Louis needed him to make an appearance tonight. 

“You’re not saying too much,” Louis breathes. 

Slowly, Harry’s face breaks into another soft grin, his eyes sparkling with the lights around them. He brings his other hand up to cup Louis’ jaw and turn him, then he presses his lips to Louis’ cheek. 

Louis’ lips part and he falls into it easier than he should for someone who isn’t supposed to know what that feels like so well, and he sighs. 

Maybe if he told Harry now, privately, they could have all of that back. Louis could apologize and they could start over for  _ real _ this time - get it right. Louis’ missed having him around as a friend and a person but he misses more than just that now. 

He longs to feel what it’s like to wake up next to him again, to remember the taste of his lips and the feeling of his hands on bare skin. Louis misses the way his moth tattoo moves on his abdomen when he breathes and the way his brow twitches when he sleeps. Small, intimate things that he can’t get away with feeling again if they’re  _ just _ friends. 

He gulps and leans into his hands, swaying slightly on his feet. 

“Harry, I-” 

“I’m really happy I came back,” Harry smiles at him, breathless and beautiful. “I missed you.” 

“Missed you too,” Louis whispers. He buries his face into Harry’s neck and blinks back overwhelmed tears in his eyes, gripping the material of his shirt in a tight fist. 

Everything is still right on the tip of his tongue. He wants to scream it loud, to tell Harry that he’s still here, he’s still the old Louis. But that’s precisely where his problem lies, isn’t it? That he was himself before. That he’s still himself now. 

Harry said that he missed him though, and that’s got to count for something. Even if he’s only missing the good times it’s more than enough, more than Louis deserves, and he’ll gladly take it. 

_ I miss you _ , Louis thinks desperately.  _ I miss you I miss you I miss you _ .  _ I still love you _ . 

The guilt feels like it’s eating him alive, clawing its way up his throat. He’s afraid for a moment that the words will work their way out regardless, like he might tear open his own chest just so he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. 

Who gave Louis the right to do this to someone else? He’d erased his own memories but in doing so, he’d also taken Harry’s. Because of a few bad times near the end he sacrificed everything in between: every smile, every laugh, everything that he thinks of on the lonely nights. But Harry just has to pretend like they don’t exist because Louis’  _ made _ him feel like he has to do that. 

He grips the material of Harry’s shirt even tighter to disguise his uneven breathing. He feels like he had in the beginning. Dizzy with nausea and guilt and the weight of his lie, but this time he can’t blame it on anyone else. This time, one way or another, he’s going to have to own up to his mistakes. 

When Harry pulls away he opens his mouth again to tell him. Louis tries to get the words out but they don’t come and he ends up stuttering and making a fool of himself, and by the end of it he’s taken too long and Harry’s already standing to lead them back to the car. 

Louis lets his hand be held and falls into the trap, a serial hopeless romantic, a self-sabotaging optimist and, more than that, the biggest coward the world has ever seen. 

+

_ December 10th, 2015 _

_ i miss you.  _

+

The guilt ebbs and flows. Sometimes he feels okay and other times he feels awful. Sometimes he’s on top of the world and other times he feels like he’s buried underneath it even though he’s very much alive. 

Today he’s feeling alright. Not so much one way or the other, really. Liam came by last night to say goodbye because he’d had a late flight, but Niall’s doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. He invited Louis out for lunch before he leaves and they went to the same cafe they ate at last time, his memory kicking in again. 

After they eat Niall inevitably notices the milkshake place around the corner and  _ of course _ , he says,  _ they  _ have _ to go.  _ Laughing at his predictable antics, Louis trails behind him as they walk over to it, pulling his phone out to ask Harry if he wants anything while he’s there. 

They’ve got most of the house finished now as far as cleaning goes, and Louis feels great about it. When he walks in it’s almost like a different home, one that feels lived in and cozy and familiar in a way it hasn’t since Harry’d been there the last time. 

Even the plant seems to be perking up somewhat, using the brace of the window to start growing straight up instead of off to one side. Louis smiles a bit each time he waters it. 

The dial tone rings in his ear and he hums while he waits for Harry to pick up, thinking about what he wants to order as they enter the shop. 

“Hey, Lou,” he says. 

“Hey,” Louis grins, “Niall wanted to stop for milkshakes, go figure,” he mumbles, giggling when Niall tosses him the finger without even looking away from the menu. “Just wanted to make sure that was alright and ask if you wanted anything?” 

Harry chuckles and Louis can hear him readjust the phone on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, you go with Niall,” Harry says. “I’ll go ahead and get started here. This room isn’t too bad, just up around the TV and the bookshelf, really.” 

“Okay, I’ll bring you back something,” Louis promises. “The chocolate one, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sounds good, Lou. Have fun,” he murmurs, the smile evident in his voice. 

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.” 

Hanging up and pocketing his phone again, Louis glances up at the large menu but ultimately just ends up ordering what Harry got. He pays and follows Niall to sit down at a booth while they wait, tapping his fingers on the checkered pattern. 

He wonders what he and Harry will make for dinner when he gets back. He’s right, the living room shouldn’t take too long to clean up because there isn’t much in there. Just the TV, like he’d said, and the bookshelf on the wall next to the door. 

Louis’ tapping stops. 

He can’t let Harry clean the bookshelf.  _ What was he thinking?  _

Fumbling for his phone again, he dials Harry’s number back and lifts it to his ear, cursing when it goes to voicemail. He must’ve left it somewhere else after they’d hung up. He tries twice more with no luck. 

The note that he’d gotten from the doctor confirming his health is still sitting on that bookshelf, crumpled up and guilty-looking. The note that clearly states he  _ doesn’t _ have and  _ never _ had amnesia. He’d never moved it. 

Louis gulps and stands from the booth where they’d been waiting for their order. He tugs on his jacket and tosses the napkins into the bin, grabbing for the keys. 

“Where’re you going?” Niall mumbles as he glances up from his phone, concerned eyes centered on his frantic movements. 

“We - I need to go,” Louis mumbles, already headed toward the door. 

“Wait, our order-” Niall argues. 

“I’m leaving, Niall. I have to get home. Right now.” 

Scoffing and looking between Louis and the counter, Niall eventually huffs and follows after him, stealing the keys and hopping back into the driver’s side. 

“What the hell happened to you?” he asks. 

“Just - drive, please.” 

With one last nervous glance in his direction, Niall pulls out of the parking spot and swerves onto the road home, seemingly beginning to sense the urgency. Even with his haphazard driving it takes them nearly fifteen minutes to get back over to the penthouse, and Louis breathes a quick goodbye before he throws open the door and darts to the lift. 

He presses the button ten times before the doors finally slip open and then he presses the  _ Close Door _ button the same amount of times. It doesn’t make much of a difference. 

Louis’ body feels like it’s vibrating, the anxiety bubbling up inside of him again. Twice he nearly trips and one time he does, catching himself on the wall as he finally makes it to their front door. 

He jabs the key in and throws it open and steps inside, out of breath from running. When he glances up Harry isn’t at the bookshelf, he’s sitting at a chair at their dining room table. Louis gulps and steps further in, shutting the door behind him. It’s too quiet. 

“Harry,” Louis breathes, moving cautiously toward his seat. Eyes focused on a spot on the floor, Harry doesn’t move, and he doesn’t make a noise. “Harry-” he starts again, only to be cut off by the sound of his chair scraping backward as he stands abruptly. 

“No,” he snaps, voice lowering like he’s only speaking to himself, like it’s all finally come together. “ _ No _ , Louis. I knew there was something wrong. Nothing was adding up, you didn’t have any of the symptoms. And I knew - I  _ knew _ it was odd that you didn’t have any questions. That you didn’t even  _ want _ to remember.” 

Harry pauses to tug a frustrated hand through his hair so hard that Louis sees the top of his forehead turn white. He gulps. Harry steps forward and Louis steps backward, until Harry’s up next to the bookcase again and Louis’ backed into the door again. 

“And I would know, because I spent weeks trying to memorize every little thing I could, trying to be there for you in any way that I thought I was allowed to.  _ Fuck _ ,” he chokes on a forced laugh. “But you - you used me, Louis. Didn’t you? Lottie didn’t even have any idea what I was talking about when I called her to check.” 

“Harry,” he says a third time, his tone growing desperate. 

“No, I need to hear you say it. You faked this entire thing so that you could take the easy way out. Admit it, Louis. You played everyone - Niall, Liam, the doctors, your  _ family _ , all of us. Everyone who actually cared about you. I mean, did you just want pity? Did you want us to feel bad for you? I don’t understand.” 

To complete his speech, Harry reaches into his back pocket to pull out the doctor’s note. Louis’ face pales. He’d known he found it but seeing him holding it creates an entirely different kind of accountability, of  _ guilt _ . 

It’d be no use fighting it anymore. 

“You always - you  _ always _ have to be the victim, don’t you? You want people to stop treating you like you’re weak?” Harry asks him, brows raised too high on his forehead, “Then stop acting like it. We both know how strong you can be, Louis. What happened to you?” 

By the end of his speech Harry seems exasperated, eyes narrowed and mouth hanging open like he still can’t believe it. It hurts more than Louis would care to admit, the disappointment clear and radiating off of Harry in waves. He looks at Louis like he’s a stranger. 

The one time Louis had a chance to start over he didn't even  _ change _ . Maybe if he had, if he hadn't just let his old, self-sabotaging behaviors continue to rule his life, this whole thing might’ve gone right. If he didn’t always make the  _ same damn mistakes. _

“You made me feel so  _ guilty _ . You can’t - you can’t just fake something like this to get away from your mistakes, Louis. That’s not how relationships work,” Harry yells, blinking rapidly. “You - you made me believe that you forgot  _ us _ . How could you do that to me?” 

Under the surface Louis can feel everything building up inside of him. Every night he so desperately wanted to tell Harry the truth, each time he came close but bit his tongue. He’s done this to himself, he knows, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a  _ reason _ . 

Harry doesn’t know anything. He wasn’t here every time Louis needed him, every time he cried himself to sleep. 

Although, he supposes that was his own fault as well, wasn’t it? 

“Because it was too fucking  _ hard _ , Harry,” he shouts, the frustration bubbling over. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

It’s quiet for a moment as Harry seems to think it over, his forehead slowly creasing the longer it draws on. Louis can feel the anger bubbling up underneath his skin. It’s irrational and he doesn’t deserve to feel it but it’s there, and now he can’t ignore it anymore. 

“What’s too hard?” he asks. 

“It was too hard to be  _ alone _ ,” he yells, everything building up and spilling out before he can think it through. “I mean,  _ fuck _ , do you not see how easy you all have it?”

Huffing, Harry raises a sarcastic brow, “What about any of this is  _ easy _ , Louis?” 

“You and Liam and Niall have it made, don’t you? You guys can have your careers because people  _ want _ to see you. They  _ want _ to hear what you have to say,” Louis tries to convey his point, “You fill up stadiums in under a second. The fans, your friends, your family. At the end of the day you’re always going to have someone in your corner.” 

“What the hell does this have to do with anything,” Harry bites, fists clenched. 

“I’m not fucking done,” Louis pushes, pointing an angry finger at him, “I know I shouldn’t have done what I did and I’m sorry, okay? The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.” 

His anger quickly fades to something else, harsh words melting into shaky,  broken syllables as soon as his feelings for Harry make an appearance. 

“But I - I’m so lonely, Harry,” he chokes, “It’s not that easy for me, not the way it is for you. And I could pretend that it’s just the fans that don’t want me but it’s not - I don’t have any friends anymore. Liam and Niall are always busy. I can’t call  _ you _ ,” Louis waves a hand at him. “My family doesn’t even call me anymore, Harry. No one - no one cares.” 

Louis’ shoulders curl in as if to cover himself from Harry’s unwavering gaze, trying to explain it as eloquently as he can. If Harry leaves, he won’t get another opportunity. He squeezes his eyes shut and continues. 

“This was my last chance. This was the only way I could make things right, the only way I could fix -  _ erase _ \- everything, start over,” he takes a stuttering breath, opening them again, “the only way I could have  _ you _ again.” 

And there it is. It’s all out there now, laid out bare for Harry to decipher. His entire reason for faking it in the first place had been Harry. Louis figures it makes sense it should end with him too. Then he’ll be alone all over again. He hopes the proverbial band aid rips off quickly. 

The sharp lines of Harry’s face blur into loose shapes as Louis begins to cry. He feels weak already at his admission, but his body has always betrayed him. It shakes and trembles the more he tries to stop it as if it’s some sort of karma for pretending so long. 

He stumbles forward and latches onto Harry’s front, his knees buckling underneath him. 

“I’m sorry,” he grabs at Harry’s shirt, drowning in his own tears as he tries to look up at him blurrily, “I’m so sorry.” 

Instead of consoling him, Harry simply removes his hands and steps backward, detaching from him and moving toward the door. Louis hears the door knob twist and feels the rush of air come in and hit his tear stained face. 

“Please, please don’t leave. I’m sorry,” he sobs, trying once more. 

On his knees, Louis watches as the door shuts again, Harry no longer on this side of it with him. He chokes and doubles over, clutching at his chest where he can feel his heartbeat stutter. Is it really possible Louis’ messed them up twice now? 

He ends up laying on his back in the entryway, the medical note on the floor next to him, broken pieces of his heart scattered between the undeniable proof of his lie. 

+

Harry calls him the next morning. He sounds out of breath and like he’s outside somewhere and Louis aches to ask him where he is, if he’s alright, but he keeps his mouth sealed tightly shut. 

He doesn’t even need to say hello before Harry knows that he’s picked up, already speaking deeply into the phone. 

“We’ve hurt each other, Louis. We’ve both said so many things that we’ll never be able to take back. Things I still have nightmares about sometimes,” he says. “That’s just how life goes, isn’t it? We’re only human. We make mistakes.” 

For a moment a sliver of hope brims in his chest. But Harry isn’t finished. 

“But this wasn’t a mistake. You had  _ every _ single chance to tell me the truth and you never took it. We’ve done shitty things to each other over and over again but we have  _ never _ lied to each other. And  _ that _ is what is going to take time for me to get over.” 

His voice crackles and breaks and Louis can’t tell if he’s gone underneath a tunnel or if he’s just overcome with emotion. Either way, he sits perfectly still and waits. He knows Harry, even if they’re angry with each other, and he needs to get all of this off of his chest if they’re going to have any chance of ever fixing any part of this mess. 

Harry sighs loudly. “It’s not - it isn’t even the fact that you lied. It’s that after everything we’ve been through you  _ still _ felt like you couldn’t just be honest with me.”

That’s always been Louis’ problem though, hasn’t it? Honesty doesn’t come easy to him. Instead he likes to sugarcoat everything and hide his feelings until he can’t anymore, until they're drawn out of him forcibly in some melodramatic confession. Louis isn’t good at being open, but he’s great at playing the victim. 

If that wasn’t the case he would’ve just been honest years ago the first time around when things were just beginning to fall apart. He’d have told Harry that he deserves more, that he could  _ be _ so much more than Louis ever could, without Louis constantly holding him back. 

But Harry’s too good for that. He wouldn’t have listened. That’s why he’d lied to him then, and it’s why he lied now. 

“You thought this would fix things?” Harry asks, voice thick. “You thought you could use this to just make everything better while the rest of us just have to live with the things we’ve done?” He chokes on a forced laugh, and Louis can tell he’s crying now. “I’m sorry to spoil it for you, Louis. That’s not how real life works. Sometimes you have to be an  _ adult _ ,” Harry’s voice raises and shakes. “You’ve got to admit to your mistakes and apologize and for once in your goddamned  _ life _ you have to think about someone other than  _ yourself _ . Do you understand that?” he yells. 

Louis bites his own lip so hard that it bleeds. The phone is clutched so tightly in his hand that he fears it might break. A few years ago he might have just hung up. He’s realized now that Harry is worth more than that, though. That he’s willing to put in the effort for him. 

Because he may not have seen it before but he’s seen it now. This second time around he’s realized that he can’t live without him. The months he and Harry were apart had been the worst of his life. The lowest lows he’d ever been in. 

Still, he doesn’t say a word. 

“I was - I was in love with you. For years I was so in love with you that I didn’t even spare a thought for myself, for how I was just letting my life pass me by while I spent every night wondering where you were, why you didn’t want me back.” 

“But it was the right thing-” Louis argues weakly. 

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Harry bites, his eyes wide and angry. “Do  _ not _ tell me what was the right and wrong thing for us. A relationship is a two-way street, Louis. And it’s not my problem that every time I was honest with you you thought it was some kind of joke because  _ you _ were too scared to admit that you wanted me too. You know damn well how much I loved you.” 

Harsh whistling from the wind outside comes through the line and Louis winces but doesn’t pull the phone away from his ear. 

“Although I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised,” Harry chuckles blankly. “You’re doing the same thing now, aren’t you? Thinking about yourself? I mean, did you even  _ think _ about how  _ I _ would feel when I found out?” 

“I didn’t think that you would-” Louis cuts himself off again with a resigned sigh, his chin to his chest as more frustrated tears blur his vision, but it’s already too late. 

A pause, and then, “You didn’t think I would find out,” Harry repeats incredulously. Louis can picture his sarcastic smile and the shocked nod on the other side of the phone. 

The excess noise ceases for a moment like Harry’s stopped walking. Louis wishes he had something to say to fix everything but it never comes. He could  beg and plead and grovel, tell Harry about the way his heart actually physically aches inside of his chest, but he keeps it to himself. For once, like Harry said, this isn’t about him anymore. 

“For years I let you do this,” Harry whispers. “I let you do anything to me because I was sure it was going to be so worth it in the end.” There’s crackling and another short sigh, a soft laugh that’s completely devoid of any humor. “But I don’t - I just don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.” 

Harry doesn’t even sound angry. He just sounds honest. Louis sits there silently with him until the line eventually goes dead, and then he still doesn’t move for the next few hours afterward. 

When night finally falls he chuckles to himself somewhat deliriously. How ironic is it that he wishes he really could forget everything now? 

+

There was a time when Louis was sure Harry was the One. Back then, the first few years after they’d been put together as a band, Louis was much different. 

He was confident and hard-headed, young and just naive enough to get away with his attitude. He and Harry clicked immediately. No matter where they were or what they went through, they had each other. And that was enough. 

It wasn’t until a bit later that it became more. Harry still had some figuring out to do for himself and Louis was already head over heels and complete shit at hiding it, but they were still as close as ever. 

When tour started they were inseparable. It’d been bad enough, living together and all, but on tour there were very few moments when they weren’t physically touching in some way, a hand on a bicep or fingers dancing on his hip. They’d shared beds and secrets and everything in between, drunk off of the feeling of being on top of the world with each other to experience it with. The days blurred together in a frenzy of fans and buses and shows and cameras and Louis desperately wishes he could go back for a bit, pause and rewind and memorize before it all fades away for good. The only constant had been Harry. It’s always been Harry. 

Soon enough a different kind of closeness bloomed between them and Louis took full advantage of it. Harry tells him he knew from the moment he met him and Louis scoffs but blushes and they get lost in each other for another few golden months. 

Louis’ always had an affinity for self-sabotage though, and he can never seem to just let himself have good things. 

For a while things felt stable. He and Harry were still adjusting to the new fame as well as their budding relationship, the first time either of them were serious about someone. It was something Louis felt like he deserved. 

And then slowly the balance began to tip in Harry’s direction. It became clear that he held much more potential than Louis did and people took notice the more popular they became and the more their fanbase grew. Louis would sit in their apartment alone while he accepted awards and went to exclusive parties, refraining from even texting him so he wouldn’t be a bother. 

Louis could pretend that Harry changed with the lifestyle, but the worst part is that he hadn’t. Harry stayed persistent in trying to find silver linings and Louis turned inward on himself, cycling through the mindset that he wasn’t good enough for him. 

He’s tired of it. When it comes to Harry, Louis doesn’t feel like settling anymore. Everything they’d done together, the beach, going to see the flowers at the arboretum, climbing up to the roof, all of it reminds him just how much he  _ does _ find joy in the small things, the things he’d lost sight of before. 

His head tingles with the sudden rush of adrenaline that washes over him, a phantom tune and lyrics popping into his head. He stands abruptly and rushes to the study, rifling through the desk until he finds an old notebook he’d never filled up. A few times he fumbles with the pen as it rolls around the drawer but he manages to catch it, clicking it open and setting the tip to the page. 

For the first time in years Louis writes. Lyrics pour out of him as easily as they used to as he fills up line after line, refusing to stop even when his hand cramps and his vision blurs with tears. 

By the time it’s dark out he’s filled up half of the pages. Some with ideas, others with random notes, and a few fully written songs. He sags back into the desk chair, the tension leaving his body. 

He feels better but he knows he’s got more to say. Digging for his phone in his pocket, Louis opens the voice memos to a new page, inhaling deeply, then presses record. It won’t be as sweet or well thought out as Harry’s old notes to him, but it’s more than just as genuine. He holds the phone up to his mouth. 

“Harry-” he starts. 

+

He’d watered the plant too much. He’d forgotten about it for a few days and then panicked, filling up an entire glass of water and rushing over to dump it into the soil. It overflowed and ran over the sides and the window sill, dirty water flooding onto the floor. Louis sits in it anyway, nearly hyperventilating as he tries to dry it up. 

The plant wilts slightly but it’s too early to tell if Louis’ killed it. He hopes he hasn’t. 

By nightfall he’s back to not feeling anything at all. He sits on the sofa comfortably numb, every second of the last few months replaying in his head. Every word, every smile, every  _ feeling _ . He clings to the memories with all he’s got but they don’t change anything. 

At half past midnight, Harry barges into the penthouse and Louis jerks his head sideways, quickly standing up to greet him. 

“Harry,” he says, bristling when Harry doesn’t spare him a glance and pushes past him to get into the foyer. “Did you get my message?” 

Louis frowns when he receives no answer, turning to face him with his arms crossed. In the span of a few seconds Harry’s throwing his jacket to the ground between them and his keys with it, kicking off his shoes next to them. He backs Louis into the door and goes straight for his neck, Louis’ head tilting like instinct. 

“Wait, did you - did you listen to everything?” Louis’ voice goes light and airy, pushing at his chest with no real intention of creating distance. “Harry-” 

“Just - just shut  _ up _ ,” Harry bites into his shoulder, his angry tone sending Louis’ complaints dying on his tongue. “I’m not talking about anything else right now. You made a shitty decision that lasted for  _ months _ . Let me make one that only lasts until morning.” 

Louis shuts up. 

Instead of arguing with him or pointing out all of the ways this is probably just going to make things worse, he stumbles backwards and clings onto Harry’s shoulders as they walk backward toward the bedroom, the sound of the door slamming shut behind them making him jump. 

Harry’s lips find his in a matter of seconds. It feels wrong to be in his arms right now but Louis’ always been a weak man. He falls into it with all desperation and no grace, hands fisted in the material of his shirt like he’s afraid Harry will disappear if he dares to let go. 

When he parts from him to kiss down Louis’ neck, Louis works at the buttons on his top until it slides right off of his broad shoulders and down to the floor below them. He’d pictured this moment so much differently before. Their new first time together was going to be so much better than the last, no room for awkward mistakes or hesitation. Louis was supposed to remind him what he’d been missing during the time they’d been apart. 

Now he thinks of how foolish it’d been to want that. How could he possibly erase those memories so easily? Each one feels painted on his heart, every beat, every breath reminding him of another detail. 

They’d been young, so young back then, naive and clumsy and falling all over each other all the time. They’d experimented a long time before they actually got it right but Louis remembers every moment of the time they did. And, if he’s honest, he remembers every time after as well. 

They were each other’s first everything. Louis would give his all to be able to go back and experience all of it again, to see it through new eyes and be able to fix where it went wrong. 

He’ll have to settle for the night. One night to pour out his soul to the man that he’s convinced is his soulmate even when he swore he never believed in things like that, in the idea that there was only one person for someone. 

As sure as Harry’s grip is around him now, he’s certain. 

Hot breath tumbles from his lips into Harry’s as they get reacquainted properly. Everything is already too hot but Louis feels more desperate than he’s ever been, like he wants to crawl inside of Harry, make a home inside of his heart and never leave, like he wants Harry to always have a reminder that he’s there every time it beats. 

The few seconds they spend apart to get Louis’ clothes off feel like ages and the cool air that appears between them is painful. As soon as there isn’t anything else separating them, Louis molds their bodies back together, lips pressed to the hollow of Harry’s throat as high as he can reach when Harry isn’t meeting him halfway. 

Dizzy, Louis blinks as he’s lifted off the floor and deposited onto the bed, the heat of Harry’s body never leaving his. They roll together until the sheets are all rucked up and the pillows are falling off the sides of the mattress, until Louis’ lips feel bruised and his jaw aches from the way he’s been sucking at Harry’s tongue. 

Harry gets a hand around Louis’ prick between them and he doesn’t last more than a few minutes. Gasping, Louis shivers and jerks through his first orgasm, his muscles twitching as he struggles to keep his lips on Harry’s. 

All of it is just a reminder, really. That Harry knows exactly what makes him fall apart, exactly how to use it to his advantage. He knows Louis too well, just as Louis knows him in return. It seems so  _ fucked _ in his head - why did they have to get it so wrong? 

It’s hazy as he grabs for the things they need from his nightstand and Harry has to help him when he shakes too much to handle them properly. Together they manage to moisten Harry’s fingers and latch Louis’ legs up on Harry’s shoulders, propping him open for Harry to settle in between them. 

He mouths at the skin around Louis’ ankle and calf as he sinks two inside of him immediately. The stretch burns and Louis knows he’ll ache in the morning but can’t bring himself to care, thinks he might even treasure the reminder when Harry’s no longer here. He bites down on his own hand to muffle the sound of his desperation. 

Two becomes three and three becomes four and soon he’s writhing on his sheets, gripping at Harry’s shoulder harshly. His long digits still know their way around as they had before, crooked and rubbing along Louis’ prostate until his legs shake and Harry pulls out of him. He kisses Louis’ leg one last time before he lowers them to lock around his hips, slicking up his own length that protrudes from between his thighs. 

Falling down onto his elbows, he locks hands with Louis as he massages the tip of his cock against Louis’ willing body. Just once he leans down and presses his lips to the corner of Louis’ mouth, and then he’s pushing inside. 

Both of them hold their breath. Louis’d been looking into his eyes but his head falls backwards onto the pillow when Harry’s seated fully inside of him. It’s like he finally feels full again, shot with a burst of energy for the first time in a long time. 

His free hand reaches up to cradle the back of Harry’s head as he works himself in and out. It’s as if they’re frozen even though they’re moving faster each second, Harry’s weight tethering him to the moment. Louis wishes it weren’t all so achingly familiar. 

His fingertips spread out in Harry’s hair and he tugs their faces closer together, his abdomen tensing as they begin to find the right angle and rhythm. He’s already so close but every part of him is desperate to draw it out for as long as he can, to keep holding on until he has to let go. 

Louis’ mouth is stuck open wide, his noises disappearing between Harry’s lips. Beside his head their hands lay clasped so tight that his wrist aches with it, both of them unwilling to let go. Their foreheads bump into each other with how quickly Harry pistons his hips, sweat dripping from his brow down onto Louis’ face. 

“H - Harry,” he gasps, his other hand grabbing at Harry’s back as he begins to come. His eyes flutter shut but he forces them open again, forces himself to watch as Harry finds his own release inside of his body. His eyes darken and Louis’ name falls from his lips, every grip tightening as they reach the precipice before the fall. 

The tears come inevitably, before he’s even finished coming, because this signifies more than just the end of their coupling. The fantasy is over - Louis’ sure that when he wakes in the morning Harry will be gone. 

He chokes on a dry sob and leans up to bury his face in Harry’s neck as he continues to shake, still coming deep inside of Louis’ body. It feels like too much and too fast and all of the sudden he doesn’t ever want to let go of him the way that he knows he’s going to have to. It’s going to hurt,  _ already _ hurts, and he deserves every damned second of it. 

For a few minutes they lay there, hands still tightly intertwined, still breathing each other’s air. Then Harry lifts himself up on his elbows and begins to pull out of him and Louis feels the knot at the back of his throat forming again. 

“Don’t - don’t,” he cries, “please just - I need more time, Harry, I need more, please.” 

“Shh,” Harry murmurs into his hair, sliding back inside of him. “I’ve got you.” 

Louis’ body vibrates with his sobs, his hands on either side of Harry’s face. The one that’s still laced with Harry’s fingers trembles when he lifts it, when he traces over Harry’s features with his fingertip. His vision is too blurry to see him clearly but Louis thinks he would know what Harry looked like even if he was a thousand miles away from him and hadn’t seen him in years. It’s one of the things he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. What he looks like waking up early in the morning with the sunlight over his skin, the faces he makes when he makes love, tucked safely into Louis’ neck. What he looks like when he’s happy and when he’s angry and when he’s sad. No, there’s no way he’d ever forget. 

His plan had been to stay awake all night so that he’d know when Harry left. The weight of Harry’s body lulls him into sleep though in his exhausted state, eyelashes fluttering over his flushed cheeks. He falls asleep just as Harry kisses his temple, clinging onto him tightly and still inside of him, torn between wanting to remember this forever and wishing he could forget. 

+

Louis wakes up to the sound of the air conditioning kicking off. The sudden silence in the room triggers his consciousness more than the noise had, and he inhales to keep the tears in when he realizes there’s no one touching him. No arm thrown around his waist, no breath on his neck. 

But then there’s a sniff. A quiet, familiar sniff and Louis rolls over so quickly that he gets dizzy, eyes landing on Harry’s body leaned up against the headboard next to him. 

“Harry?” 

He’s just sitting there, staring at Louis’ wall, illuminated brightly by the morning sun coming in through his sheer curtains. His hands are laced together in his lap, his chest still bare from the night before. Louis aches to touch him again but he keeps his hands to himself. 

“You still talk in your sleep,” is all he says. 

“How long have you been awake?” Louis asks quietly, swallowing, bracing himself for the worst. He sort of wishes, if this is Harry’s big explanation before he goes, that he would have spared Louis’ feelings and left while he was still unconscious. 

“Never went to sleep,” Harry says. 

Louis gulps and turns until he’s on his back leaning on his elbows, then scoots up until he can sit up against the headboard next to him. He’s known Harry long enough to know which facial expressions and clipped dialogue mean he’s in for a long conversation. 

“I listened to the recording,” he tells Louis. “I’m glad you’re writing again.” 

Not exactly what Louis’d been hoping to hear. He clears his throat softly and keeps his eyes ahead like Harry, just listening for now. If Harry’s got something to say, he’s going to say it, regardless of if Louis wants him to or not. 

“I left because I thought I deserved better. Because I wanted someone that was willing to love me as much as I loved them, and that wasn’t afraid to show it.” 

The sheets rustle around his knees as Louis fights with them to get untangled. Eventually he gives up and settles for staring at the wall again, finding odd comfort in Harry’s voice despite his words. 

“But it just,” Harry laughs but it comes out more like a scoff. “It just never works. Back then it didn’t and it still doesn’t work. No one is -” Harry glances up at him finally, his gaze bittersweet and conclusive. Louis braces himself for the worst, for another pinch of salt in his perpetually open wound about how everyone loves Harry and how Louis missed his chance and how he’s so much happier now without him. Across from him, Harry hesitates before he sighs, shaking his head. “No one is  _ you _ ,” he finishes. 

This time when silence overtakes them for a few moments Louis holds his breath, balancing on the edge of what he wants to hear and what he thinks he deserves to hear. He reaches to the bedside table for some water but there isn’t any there, so he draws his hands back into his lap. 

“You’re my person,” Harry says simply. “And I’ve spent so long trying to fight that because I didn’t think that’s what you wanted. And just when I felt like I was gonna be okay, when I felt like maybe one day I’d be able to hear your name and not feel like my heart is getting ripped out of my chest, you go and you - you do all of this.” 

Despite his clear frustration, Harry doesn’t yell. Louis’ always admired that in him, his ability to say what he’s thinking without his emotions getting in the way before he can. 

“I’m still angry with you, I think. It’s probably going to take me a bit to trust you like I did before. But I - I don’t want to miss out on you again. The circumstances are shitty and I wish that everything would’ve happened another way but I won’t - I can’t lose you again. Not if you’re willing to try this time.” 

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Louis twists and gets himself tangled up in the sheets once again, his body moving to face Harry properly. He still hesitates to touch, but he thinks his red rimmed eyes and frantic movements say enough. 

“I am, I am, Harry,” he rushes. “I’m gonna try so hard, I promise. I promise you.” 

Harry lifts an arm for him and Louis dives underneath it, throwing a leg over his hips and straddling him in a hug. His lips find Louis’ and he inhales around him, movements fluid as it deepens. 

“That’s all I ask,” Harry sighs. He pulls back slightly to look Louis in the eye. “But you have to be honest with me. Always. I can’t just guess anymore.” 

“I know,” Louis whispers. 

He presses their foreheads together and bites his own lips, rubbing his thumb over Harry's cheek. Even with everything that’s happened between them his eyes seem clear, just as green as Louis remembers them being. Green like the plants still growing in the window in the kitchen, green like the flower he’d picked as his favorite at the arboretum. Green like growth and new beginnings. 

“I didn’t think I was right for you,” Louis starts. “I knew you were it for me but - I just kept seeing all of these great things and opportunities that you were turning down and I didn’t want to hold you back.” 

“You could never,” Harry shakes his head. 

“Just - let me finish?” Louis asks softly. Harry nods, his eyes encouraging. “I thought it was obvious. That everyone knew that you could do so much better than me, but I was selfish. I loved you too much to do anything about it.” 

Saying it out loud feels foolish, like he’d thought Harry was gullible enough to just up and leave him at any given moment. Louis wants to make him see - he’d never thought there was an issue with Harry. It’s always been himself he was unhappy with. 

But even that’s changing too, looking back on everything. It’s like it’s all beginning to come together for him now. 

How was he ever supposed to learn from his mistakes if he refused to admit that he made them in the first place? Still, Louis continues. 

“And then it just kept happening and I knew I had to do  _ something _ . I couldn’t just sit back and let you pass up all of these amazing opportunities because - because of  _ me _ ,” he whispers,“because I’m not worth it. Or, I - I didn’t think I was worth it.” 

“Lou,” Harry stops him again, a hand gripping his cheek, “If this wasn’t worth it to me I would have left a long time ago. But I stayed. I kept hoping. Do you know why?”

Louis shakes his head and blinks back his tears. 

“Because you’re it for me. I mean it when I say that, baby.” Harry kisses him, soft and slow. “I’m never gonna want anyone else the way I want you. I’m done trying to fight it.” 

“I’m so sorry I lied to you,” Louis says. “Both times. I - I always loved you, H. I never should have said that I didn’t,” he promises. “But I mean it, I don’t - I don’t think that way anymore, Harry. I want both of us to be happy now. If - if you’ll still have me,” he whispers. 

The silence is scarier than anything Harry could’ve had to say, but Louis waits it out nonetheless. He noses at Harry’s neck where it feels private and familiar and holds his breath, calm and steady. 

“Let’s just - let’s start over, yeah? We can still have the memories, we can still learn from our mistakes. We don’t have to  _ erase _ anything. It’s a part of us, right?” Harry asks, smiling. “And that means it’s worth holding onto.” 

“I love you,” Louis breathes, finally allowing himself to break into a grin. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me, love,” he leans forward to take Louis’ lips again, his tongue dancing along the roof of his mouth. 

Louis runs his hands over every inch of him he can reach and memorizes all he can, from his eyelashes to the dip in his hips to the curve of his ankle. He memorizes the way Harry’s breath hitches and fans out over Louis’ face, the way his hands grip his skin and leave flushed reminders for him to find the next day. He squeals as they’re turned over again and tries to keep hold of the feeling when Harry nips at his neck, when he tucks a strand of stubborn hair behind Louis’ ear. 

He pushes on Harry’s shoulders and frames his face with his smaller hands, watching as Harry kisses the inside of his palm. 

“I love you,” Louis says. 

“I love you,” Harry echoes. 

Louis grins and knocks their foreheads together in his hurry to kiss him again, finally relaxing as the last bit of weight falls off of his shoulders. 

He’s never going to forget it. 

+

_ September 12th, 2020 _

_ it seems the universe is on our side. i can’t wait to see what else it has in store for us. forever and always, boo.  _

_ H. xxxxx _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> you can reblog this fic [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/629032747066867712/the-way-this-river-runs) :)


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